


Except Because (I Love You)

by huntersandangels



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake Marriage, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7565566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huntersandangels/pseuds/huntersandangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself down and failing, he swiped ‘call’. He felt the panic rising, mingling with his anger and frustration, as he waited for the call to connect only to have it intensify when all he got was Jonny’s voicemail.<br/>“Where the hell are you, Jonny? Turn your fucking phone on! You have to marry me!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent, off-season filler fic.
> 
> As a European, I’m not familiar with US Law. Though I did extensive research, unfortunately, Google does not provide specific information about all parts of this particular hypothetical situation. Think of any inconsistencies as creative licence.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : This is a work of fiction; all lies, except the parts that are true, the characters are real people who belong to themselves, except the OC’s who belong to my vivid imagination, and this is written for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Title borrowed from Pablo Neruda’s [poem](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-do-not-love-you-except-because-i-love-you/) “I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You.” 
> 
> Last Will and Testament and Wedding ceremony service templates were taken off from the internet, adjusted to fit the context of the story. [ (x)](http://www.rurallawcenter.org/docs/Writing%20Your%20Will\(1\).pdf) [ (x) ](http://www.donnakingjp.com/standard_ceremony.php)
> 
> **Updates** : This story is complete and will be updated once per day.
> 
>  **Acknowledgements** : Beta’d by the lovely [tictactoews](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tictactoews/pseuds/tictactoews). I have no words to express my gratitude. Not only did she put up with my horrible punctuation and patiently endured my excessive rambling but she also provided useful insight that got me out of my block and my constant state of self doubt.
> 
> As always, Zarah gets special thanks because even when she is not very actively involved she still lets me whine in her IM and suffers my bouts of insecurity. 
> 
> **Additional notes** : Comments are encouraged and appreciated. You can also visit my [tumblr](http://oflovesandlikes.tumblr.com/) if you have an idea/prompt or you just want to talk. 
> 
> Alternatively, [twitter](https://twitter.com/andielach/) which would give me the motivation to start using it again.

Last Will and Testament

OF EMILY JOANA JAMES

 

I, EMILY JOANA JAMES, a resident of the city of Williamsville, New York, being of sound mind, do hereby make, publish and declare this to be my LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT hereby revoking all Wills and Codicils at any time heretofore made by me.

First: I direct that my executor or executrix, hereinafter named, pay all my legal obligations and just debts as soon after my death as may be possible.

Second: I give, devise and bequeath the following specific bequests: 1. My house and property at 18 Evans Street in Williamsville, New York, along with the custody of my precious dog ‘Luna’, I give, bequeath and devise to my great nephew Patrick Timothy Toews, husband of Jonathan Bryan Toews, Chicago IL, and their future heirs (either born or adopted) and assigns forever. Should he fail to comply with the private instructions left with my dear Agatha , I give, bequeath and devise this property and custody of my dog to my nephew, Patrick Timothy Kane, of Buffalo, New York on condition that his son Patrick Timothy Toews is excluded from any future claim to my estate in my nephew’s will. 2. My collection of ten (10) antique quilts I give, bequeath and devise to my niece in law, Donna Kane of Buffalo, New York.

Third: I give, bequeath and devise all the rest, residue, and remainder of my real, personal or mixed property, wherever situate, to my great nieces Erica, Jessica and Jacqueline Kane of Buffalo, New York, to be shared equally between them.

Fourth: I hereby appoint my dearest friend Agatha Ellen Ross, of Williamsville, New York as Executrix of this my Last Will and Testament. If for some reason she is unable to serve as my Executrix, I appoint her brother, Jason Andrew Hart of Buffalo, New York, as Alternate Executor.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I EMILY JOANA JAMES, have hereunto subscribed my name the ___11th____ day of ______________August__________ in the year Two Thousand and Fifteen. __________________________________________ EMILY JOANA JAMES Testatrix

We, whose names are hereto subscribed, Do Certify that on the ____11th___ day of ____________August__________, 2015, EMILY JOANA JAMES subscribed her name to this instrument in our presence and in the presence of each of us, and at the same time, in our presence and hearing, declared the same to be her Last Will and Testament, and requested us, and each of us to sign our names thereto as witnesses to the execution thereof, which we hereby do in the presence of EMILY JOANA JAMES and of each other, on the day of the date of the said Will, and write opposite our names our respective places of residence.

WITNESS Catherine Maria Elks _____________________________________________________________________________________________ ADDRESS 78 Evans Street Williamsville, Buffalo, NY _________________________________________________________________________ WITNESS _________John Connor Elks _____________________________________________________ ADDRESS 78 Evans Street Williamsville, Buffalo, NY ___________________________________________________________________ 

 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------

 

 

Patrick staggered to his feet, swaying a little.

“What?” he croaked, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak.

“Your great aunt was very clear that you are to inherit her estate-“ Mr. Jenkins, Emily’s lawyer, repeated.

“No, the... I missed the part where...” Patrick was at a loss for words.

“-and the guardianship of her beloved Luna,”

“After that-”, Patrick interrupted once again, impatiently.

“To my great nephew?” Mr Jenkins asked, bewildered.

Patrick was sweating; his hands were shaking and his heart a rapid thumping in his ears.

“After that-”

“It states your name.”

“That! I want to hear that.”

Mr. Jenkins seemed to be losing his patience. “You do not know your own name?”

“I- I do, I just- I need to see it in writing.” He approached the desk and with trembling hands he took the document Mr Jenkins offered him.

“Patrick Timothy Toews. – -Hus... Oh, dear God- husband of Jonathan Bryan Toews. Jesus.”

He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He was almost certain he was going to faint.

“Mr. Toews,” the lawyer said soothingly, but all it did was make Patrick want to throw up. “I think I understand your predicament but I can assure you that this is all confidential and no news of this will reach the press. Miss James was quite adamant about that. You needn’t worry.”

“I- well, yes, of course, but you see - Jonny and I, - we - we’re not-“. Patrick didn’t have the words, and even if he could find some, what could he possibly say?

“As I said, Mr. Toews, you really have nothing to worry about. Normally, all beneficiaries are present at the opening of the will but your unique situation is the reason why you were asked to stay behind and do this in private, per Miss James’ request. Although, I assume your family is aware -“

He didn’t quite make it a question; he just let it hang there in the air.

“I - my family knows that we- that we’re –“- that they were what? Not even Patrick knew what they were anymore; not quite just friends but nothing even close to more. Most definitely not married, though.

“Then I don’t see a problem, Mr. Toews. Now all you have to do is provide me with your marriage certificate, assuming you have not changed your ID to your married name, so I can work with the executrix and let you legally claim your inheritance.” Mr Jenkins made it seem like the easiest thing in the world, but how did you provide a document that didn’t exist anywhere other than in Patrick’s deepest, hidden fantasies?

“I - the certificate - I don’t have it.“Little by little Patrick felt the world crumble around him, one piece at a time so it could make his suffering greater.

“Oh, of course, - I assume you have left it in Chicago. It makes sense.”

Patrick was this close to telling him what they said about people who assumed but he didn’t have an ounce of fight left in him.

“Since your husband is currently in Chicago,“ the lawyer said, and Patrick would really love to know how exactly the lawyer knew that, “he can either fax it to my office or send you a copy of it to deliver it personally if you think it safer.”

“When - when do you need it?” Patrick asked.

“The sooner the better; If you’re not going to renounce the will,” the lawyer paused, looking at Patrick under his lashes, bushy eyebrows raised in question. Patrick thought he looked a lot like Matlock, all silver hair and puffy cheeks.

It took a moment to realise he was actually waiting for an answer. “No?” he replied hesitantly until the question actually registered in his brain. “No, no, I want the house.”

“And the dog,” Mr Jenkins added hastily, “You can’t have one without the other, Mr. Toews.”

Patrick had a feeling that his heart would never stop skipping a beat at hearing the name. It was not like he ever planned on changing his name to that Canadian pronounced confusion - not that he’d ever have the option - it was just the connotations behind it.

“Yes, the dog, of course. But you see, with my hockey schedule, you can understand how difficult it would be for me to care for a pet.”

“I’m under the impression that many people in your profession have pets, Mr. Toews. I suggest you ask them for advice.” Matlock - well, Mr. Jenkins, but he definitely looked like Matlock scowling at the judges - interjected.

Defence was never Patrick’s strongest skill but he summoned whatever he had of it. “Yes,” he said, sharply. “But, unlike me, they’re not married to a fellow hockey player.” The lie rolled off his tongue with such easiness that it took him off guard.

“That is true, but the fact remains. Luna was left to you and Mrs Ross will need to make sure she’s well taken care of, as requested by your great aunt, of course.”

“I - what?” Patrick was losing the ground beneath his feet once more.

“For the remainder of your stay you can take residence at the estate and care for Luna. This being your off-season makes things easier. Mrs Ross was your great aunt’s neighbour as well as her executrix, so she can witness firsthand that her wishes are being respected.”

The whole universe was clearly out to get him, there was no other explanation. Apparently, being taken out of the Cup run in the first round was not enough of a blow. Aunt Emily - with her weirdness and all - had to die and make herself one more person he had to live without. But that wasn’t all, it seemed. He had to be subjected to a dead lady’s cruel joke disguised as a will. What stood between him and the house his grandfather grew up in was a husband he wanted but didn’t have, a dog he didn’t want but had to care for, and a busybody, loafer widow he had never liked but now had to appease.

“Well, I had other plans-“ Patrick started to say, but quickly got interrupted.

“Then I suggest you alter them, Mr. Toews. I understand that this is sudden and you’re still suffering from grief but it’d be an inconvenience for all of us to have to check up on things in Chicago later on.”

Patrick sighed. Yeah, that would be a great inconvenience, especially if Patrick didn’t find a way around the Mr. Toews hiccup, but damn it, he couldn’t just give up the house.

“Sure, let’s just do that.” Unarmed and defeated on all fronts, Patrick surrendered.

Mr. Jenkins’ rosy cheeks puffed with glee. “It’s settled, then. I will inform Mrs Ross to expect you, - and possibly your husband as well?”

Patrick reluctantly nodded. “Yeah, him too.” If he found a way around Jonny wanting to throttle him once made aware. He was under no illusions; Jonny had endured too much of his shit but this would definitely take the cake.

Mr. Jenkins offered his hand and Patrick had to wipe his on his pants to be in any condition for a handshake. The lawyer bid his goodbyes and as the door closed behind him, it felt like a coffin lid falling shut over Patrick.

Walking to his car, he fumbled with his phone. His fingers hovered over Jonny’s contact info. That was a conversation he was not looking forward to having. Then again, this was not Patrick’s fault.

Patrick could name countless times over the years when he had to school his features, clench his fists and drag himself away from Jonny. He had to be in check and pick his words carefully, distance himself when things got too much to handle and drink himself to oblivion so that no one, not even Jonny himself, could see what Patrick’s real feelings were.

Meanwhile Jonny had always been more openly affectionate, both physically and verbally and Patrick had always hated that easiness of him; the fact that Jonny didn’t have to hide anything because there were no underlying desires and wishes even though the whole world - and Patrick himself damn it – would always misinterpret it.

Patrick was getting worked up and he felt that bitter taste of resentment towards Jonny rise again. He knew it was childish but he couldn’t help himself. He could not fault Jonny for not loving him back the way he craved, that was both irrational and unfair.

Unjustifiable or not, though, he was angry at Jonny, because, unintentionally perhaps, he always made that little spark of hope inside Patrick flicker. It was like he was choosing the exact time to pour gasoline to it and instead of letting it die out made Patrick think there’s a chance.

But there never was any follow through and Patrick’s anger was directed towards both of them. Jonny for causing it and himself for always falling for it and getting himself even more tangled in the same loop. And now- now he had to ask him to fake it. He had to swallow his pride and his heartbreak and beg Jonny to pretend.

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself down and failing, he swiped ‘call’. He felt the panic rising, mingling with his anger and frustration, as he waited for the call to connect only to have it intensify when all he got was Jonny’s voicemail.

“Where the hell are you, Jonny? Turn your fucking phone on! You have to marry me!” 

 

_________________________________________


	2. Chapter 2

Jonny had never felt that _light_ in his life! Even after showering, getting dressed and returning to the horrible reality that was Chicago’s traffic, he could still sense that feeling of everything that had been constricting him fading away.

The water, infused with Epsom salts, kept exactly at body temperature, his nude body face-up in a relaxed position, his face above the water and his ears plugged and submerged, his arms floating to the side, were something he had never experienced before. Weightless and carefree, senses blocked out and tension dissolving, he felt ...  intangible! For a single moment in that float tank he even thought himself invincible; no body to bruise, no heart to break.

Jonny sighed deeply as he entered his house, wishing it could last.  Unfortunately, he had to go back to his own reality, residual sadness and all.

His already fragile Zen phase was further disrupted by the constant beeping of his phone as soon as he turned it on. With confusion evident in his face - it wasn’t as if he never got any messages, the opposite really -, but never that many and never all at once - he scrolled through it and was even more perplexed to find that the majority of the missed calls were from Patrick and that was a weird occurrence all on its own.

Patrick had been MIA ever since their exit interviews and even though Jonny understood the need to lie low and lick the wounds, he couldn’t help but feel hurt that he hadn’t tried to reach out to him. He remembered a time when Jonny had been the first person Patrick leaned to. That hadn’t been the case for so long and it pained him because he had tried everything to show Patrick that he was always there for him, for better or worse, in any way needed.

Usually, though, when things went awry Patrick stayed silent, so the fact that he was reaching out to him more amused and delighted than alarmed him. He expected a lot of teasing about his float tank tweet, and if it was coming from someone else maybe he would have just ignored it, but from Patrick he welcomed it; he revelled in what little attention he was getting, in any shape or form.

That’s why he chocked and sputtered as he heard the first voice mail.

_Where the hell are you, Jonny? Turn your fucking phone on! You have to marry me!”_

For a second he thought he had heard wrong. Patrick would have never uttered those words, would he? And definitely not with such venom in his voice, as if Jonny had somehow pressured him into it. No matter how much Jonny craved closeness beyond friendship, he’d have never manipulated Patrick into it. He couldn’t understand why Patrick sounded like he had been grinding his teeth, trying to prevent himself from muttering the words.

Jonny had figured he would have been the one to blurt it out; somewhere on centre ice, between hands grasping jerseys, eyes shining and dazzling smiles. The words would leave his lips involuntarily but he would mean them nonetheless.

He would say “ _Marry me_ ” and it would be “ _I love you_ ” and “ _give me a chance_ ”; it would be “let us be _each other’s_ from now on; be _mine_ as I am _yours,_ until the day our jerseys hang in the rafters retired, and I can say it again with infinite circles of solid gold and make you a promise I can keep.”

Jonny felt the bile in the back of his throat. The taste was not a new acquaintance of his; he was already too familiar with it. It was the bitter taste of heartbreak. It marked the nights he spent visualising the impossible dream, only to have it shuttered by daylight.

It had a new flavour as well; one he could not name, which left him abashed nonetheless.   

He chalked it up to drunken confusion, even though Patrick sounded remarkably sober, and continued to the next one.

_“Seriously, Jonny, where the fuck are you? Call me!”_

With every single one of the rest, Patrick’s desperation intensified.

“ _Jonny, this is serious!_ ”

“ _Call me, please_!”

_“Jonny, come on, man, please”_

_“Jonny, I’m begging you!”_

_“I need you.”_

And that, defeated, last one was what made Jonny’s insides twist and turn and tangle into knots.

He had never said those words to Jonny, not once. Not that Jonny ever gave him a chance to. He was usually already there for him; a hovering presence that made it easy for Patrick to just turn around and seek his comfort or his help.

Jonny swiped ‘Call’.

Patrick picked up on the first ring, bulldozing his way through the conversation without letting Jonny utter a word.

“Oh, thank God, man! Where have you been?”

Jonny opened his mouth to reply but before he could speak Patrick continued with his rambling.

“Forget it! It’s not important!”

Jonny could picture the dismissive, waving off gesture clearly. It did kind of sting that Patrick wasn’t interested in anything Jonny, but it was not the first time so he swallowed the disappointment down once again.

“Here’s the deal. Aunt Emily died and she left me the house- and a dog, but that’s not important at the moment, I can deal with the little minx later, but she had this weird idea that- and then there’s that snotty Agatha from next door and we have to-“

“Whoa, there, Kaner! Calm down!” Jonny could neither process all that information at once, nor follow Patrick’s train of thought. “Let’s start from the beginning. So, your aunt died...”

“Yeah.” It was the first time since that conversation started that Patrick’s voice sounded faint. He and his family had always been close.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” It was such a cliché, but Jonny actually meant it. “Her... _eccentricities_ aside, she was a lovely lady.”

Jonny could clearly picture her as if she was standing in front of him; her quirky - often veiled - hats, her oversized boutonnieres, her insistent use of pastel colours and the permanent red lipstick. Her very favourite thing, though, had been making Jonny blush. The fond memory put a dismal smile on his face.

Patrick huffed - probably at Jonny’s use of the word eccentricities, which was a mild noun to describe Emily James - and that pulled Jonny out of his reminiscing haze.

“Thank you.” Patrick said. “So...you know, she died, and- she left me her house...and her dog. And now I have to stay there and prove to Agatha that I can take care of it...them...both... I don’t know!”

Jonny could feel him starting to panic again. “OK, so she left you a house and a dog. And you have to stay there for a while, until this... Agatha?- is convinced you are capable of caring for the dog, I assume? I don’t see why that is a bad thing, Kaner.”

“ _Because!_ ” Patrick squealed at the other end of the line “Because she... because she left it to-“

Jonny couldn’t make out what Patrick was saying; just a jumble of letters spoken in one breath.

“Wait! I can’t understand what you’re saying, Kaner. She left it to whom? I thought she left it to you.” 

“She did...kind of... I mean it is me, but it’s also not.”

“What do you mean?”

“She left it to _Patrick Timothy Toews_.”

Jonny had either suffered a hearing defect after using the tank or someone was playing a joke at his expense. “Excuse me?”

“She left it to PATRICK. TIMOTHY. TOEWS. Husband of one Jonathan Bryan FUCKING Toews!” Patrick was yelling in his ears and Jonny couldn’t understand why that anger was directed at him but was relieved to know that his hearing was solid.

Which made him spatter as soon as the information was processed. “WHAT?”

“She thought we were married, alright?”

“WHY?” his voice high-pitched and strangled sounded foreign in his ears. “Why would Aunt Emily think we’re married?”

“Maybe because you kept calling her THAT, for one.”

“Calling her what?”

“Aunt Emily!”

Jonny felt his face flush deep red. “Well, she... she insisted I did, ok? It was not like I chose it, Kaner!”

Patrick continued as if Jonny’s protest hadn’t even been spoken. “Or the fact that when she was in town, we took her and our mothers to dinner... _together_!”

“Well, they were all here, and our mothers wanted...”

“Or that we took our fathers golfing and our siblings shopping... _together_.”

Jonny felt his hurt rise with each syllable. Patrick’s words were clearly an accusation directed towards him and he definitely was not at fault.

“Kaner, they were all in Chicago at the same time! They wanted to see each other and we agreed - _we both_ did - that a joined outing would work better with our schedule.”

“Yeah,” Patrick conceded and for a moment Jonny thought he had calmed down and saw reason. “But you didn’t have to buy my mother flowers for Mother’s Day, Jonny!”

Well, that didn’t last long.

It was Jonny’s turn to protest. “Well, excuse me for being considerate! They were here on Mother’s Day! I bought my maman flowers because that’s what a thoughtful son does, Kaner. I gave your mom a flower. ONE! I even gave your aunt one as well! How in the hell does that suggest that I’m your husband?”

Jonny tried to calm himself down. There was no way to reason with Kaner when he was like that but that didn’t mean Jonny had to lose his cool as well.

“Because... because you had to make the stupid dinner reservation under your stupid fucking name and then have me fucking call them to fucking change it. And they asked me and I had to tell them ‘The name is Toews. T-O-E-W-S because no one can fucking pronounce your weird fucking name!”

“There was a lot of fucking in that, Kaner, no wonder she thought we were married!”

“Dude, this is not funny! This is serious!”

“Do you hear me laughing, Kaner? She thought we were married, so what?”

“So _what_? So we have to get married or else I can’t get the inheritance, Jonny! Weren’t you listening?”

“Although I’m flattered, really, because who wouldn’t be swooned by that brilliant proposal,” Jonny said dryly, “all I heard were a bunch of accusations, Kaner, and not one reason why -  for the sake of argument - I’d be inclined to help you.”

The truth was that Jonny would have actually considered looking for options if Patrick hadn’t turned him into the villain of that story.

“I’m sorry,” Patrick mumbled but it sounded sincere. “If you don’t help me, Jonny, I’ll lose the house.”

“You already have a house, Kaner. A huge one!” Jonny didn’t mention the times when Sharpy had teased Patrick about its size or the chirps about overcompensating but he was sure they were both remembering them.

“Well, I’m thinking of selling that anyway. It hasn’t felt like home since...” Patrick paused and Jonny knew what he was thinking.

 It was a subject they never discussed. It had been like an unspoken agreement and the only fear Jonny had was that perhaps Patrick had taken his silence the wrong way.

“But that’s beside the point,” Patrick continued. “Whatever house I own or will, it’ll never be it.”

“Patrick, you can afford to buy it! You can afford to buy ten houses!” It was not like Patrick was hurting for money, so Jonny couldn’t understand the desperation.

“I can’t! Jonny, if I don’t do this, the house goes to my dad and he’s not allowed to leave it to me after he passes. I can’t lose it, man! My... my grandpa grew up there. Please, Jonny.”

Jonny had no words. Well, he did have a bunch, but none appropriate for the situation. Patrick didn’t have to mention anything else. They both knew what his grandfather meant to him; something that couldn’t be bought no matter how many dollars he could throw around.

The burden that was laid on Jonny’s shoulders was too heavy to bear. Every which way he looked at it, someone would get hurt.

Unbearable or not Jonny knew he had no other option. He could cope with his own heartbreak. He had been living with it constantly for the last several years. What he could never bear were Patrick’s sad, glistening eyes. He’d take on the world if it meant Patrick never having to suffer.

“We’ll figure it out”, he said soothingly. “Come home, Pat.”

 




	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Patrick walked into Jonny’s house feeling exhausted and famished. Dealing with fans was great but it could be really draining as well. All he wanted to do was eat and crash for twelve hours.

“Hey, Jonny, I’m back! And I’ve brought Chinese!” He yelled as he walked along the corridor and towards the living room. His best bet was Jonny would be in there. As much as he loved coming home to him, Patrick was not looking forward to another fight. For some reason Jonny had been cranky for the past week, picking fights left and right.

Patrick was both worried and hurt but didn’t want to push since he already felt guilty enough for dragging Jonny into his mess. On the other hand, there were moments where he felt anger bubble inside him at the unfairness of all Jonny’s snappiness directed at him. He was not proud when at those moments he childishly threw gasoline into the fire.

Sure enough Jonny was waiting for him, pacing up and down, brows frowned and lips tight. “What the hell took you so long?”

Patrick shrugged. He thought that if he tried ignoring Jonny’s foul mood, maybe it’d go away. “I just had to sign some stuff, man, you know how these things go. And I stopped to get food,” he said, putting the take out bags on the coffee table.

Jonny looked unimpressed. “I’m getting sick and tired of having the same conversation over and over again. You’ve been home almost ten days but you’re barely even here! All you’ve done is horsing around!”

Patrick walked a little closer and stood with his hands on his waist. “Excuse you! I have obligations, you know! I’ve taken part in not one but two golf charity games.” He raised two of his fingers for dramatic effect “I took you to ‘Joe’s Seafood, Prime Steak, And Stone Crab’ for a belated birthday dinner, and - and I can’t stress this enough! - I _followed_ you on twitter! What did you do, Jonny, other than yoga and flashing the world your assets on social media?” And maybe that last one had Patrick seething with jealousy but Jonny didn’t need to know that.

He knew he was playing with fire but since he was not at fault and he did had an ace up his sleeve he found it utterly hilarious to wind Jonny up. He was getting tired of always holding his tongue. Being quiet shouldn’t allow anyone to think him of being a door mat.

Jonny’s eyes widened and a vein in his forehead popped, thick and prominent - evidence of his impending explosion. “Who came to whom for help, with sighs of woe and desperation, Kaner? Who was the one who said we were fighting against time? I’ll give you a hint: not me! But I’ve been doing all I can. After spending the best of last week trying to come up with another solution-”

“And failing,” Patrick muttered under his breath. It wasn’t as if he blamed Jonny for it. There weren’t any alternatives and he was so very indebted to Jonny, he just couldn’t deal with all the accusations.

“I’ve-against my better judgement-“ Jonny continued, probably not having heard him, which was a blessing if you asked him, “agreed with your stupid ass plan, which could potentially ruin both our careers if it gets out, and you have the fucking nerve to-“ 

Patrick scrolled through his phone and shoved it at Jonny’s face. “To find all related information, order the rings, having all documents notarised –well, not me, personally- I had Mrs. Reiner do it.”

Jonny sputtered. “You had my housekeeper do what?”

“We needed the copies notarised. Pay attention, Jonny: birth certificates, IDs, your passport - since you’re a _foreigner,_ Social Security numbers, the whole shebang. It’s there on the list.” He gestured towards Jonny holding his phone with a smirk.

Jonny scrolled through it and swallowed audibly. “It’s... They’re checked... almost all of it.”

“Yes, Jonny, they are. Contrary to what you think, I haven’t been sitting on my ass. I don’t expect you to clean up all my messes and I certainly don’t expect you to do all the work. I’ll have you know, I’m excellent at multitasking.”

Jonny huffed but had the decency to look embarrassed as well.  “Gloating doesn’t become you, Kaner.”

“Au contraire, mon ami,” Patrick said smugly, and seeing Jonny’s face at his perfect pronunciation made the hours spent listening the French phrase on loop so worth it.

He walked back to the coffee table and took the bags in his hands. As he walked towards the kitchen he threw a backward glance at Jonny. “You coming? I’m starving,” he said, and continued his way, almost positive Jonny would follow.

Indeed, Jonny walked into the kitchen as Patrick was emptying the bags. “I got chicken. You want soft fried with lemon sauce or sweet and sour?”

“Either is fine,” Jonny replied and the fact that the voice came from close behind him startled Patrick. It also, for some weird reason, made him incredibly nervous.

“Noodles or rice?” he asked again, voice less steady and hands nervously fumbling with takeout cartons.

 Jonny’s hand, rough and calloused, stopped Patrick’s ministrations. It also made him lose all equilibrium; the counter the only thing that kept him from falling backwards and into Jonny’s chest.

“Pat,” Jonny whispered.

There was no reason for it; he was so close that Pat could feel his body heat, smell hints of cedarwood and bergamot. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed with great effort.

Jonny neither spoke nor removed his hand; evidence that he needed Patrick’s undivided attention. Patrick turned his head and raised his gaze.

Jonny’s darks eyes seemed more intense than usual. “I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing he said but Patrick heard all the unspoken words as well. He read the regret in his eyes, not only for the things he said and the way he did it but mostly because he _doubted._

Moments like that were Patrick’s undoing. When he thought he wasn’t imagining it, that indeed there was something more hanging between them, that he wasn’t alone in his feelings. That maybe Jonny was there with him, as scared as Patrick to make that leap, bottling everything inside until the perfect opportunity arose or that one moment that suspicion became certainty.

He mentally shook his head because those were dangerous thoughts to have, paving the way to his heartbreak. Those moments never lasted long anyway, no matter how much Patrick wished they did.

He turned his head around again and gently moved his hand from beneath Jonny’s; the feeling, he would always carry it with him. He handed him the food. “Let’s eat, man, I’m _dying_ here.”

Jonny would think it was from starvation, but if he could hear the small cracks underneath Pat’s rib cage, he’d understand it was deeper than that. Patrick was glad he couldn’t.

Jonny hesitated. “We good?”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, man. We’re solid.”

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

Having eaten and left the awkwardness behind, Patrick and Jonny found themselves sprawled across Jonny’s couch, going over the rest of the wedding details.

“So, at first I thought Vegas because... _Vegas, baby_!” Patrick wiggled his eyebrows, making Jonny scrunch his face. “And, you know, mass weddings and all - so I thought, who would notice, right? But then again, too many people, too many tourists, it would be easy to get recognised.”

Jonny just nodded. “And then I went another way. I won’t bore you with the details of my brilliance but it’s there nonetheless!”

“Get on with it, Kaner. You can pat your back later,” Jonny said and shoved him playfully.

Patrick opened a new tab on his laptop and searched his bookmarks. As soon as the website came up he grinned at Jonny. “Deming, Luna County, New Mexico!”

“Huh. Makes sense, I guess. Who the hell cares about hockey in New Mexico, right?” Jonny didn’t sound it but Patrick knew he was impressed.

“Right, right? And-“ Patrick paused for dramatic effect, “you don’t have to be a resident and there’s no waiting period, Jonny. None. Marriage licences are issued and valid immediately. It costs, like, $25 paid when you apply and they don’t even need blood tests or exams.”

Jonny’s face did a thing Patrick couldn’t name “But you did- didn’t you?”

“Did what?” Patrick asked cautiously, because Jonny just used his captain voice and that was almost never a good sign.

“The blood test; end of the season required-“

Patrick sighed with relief.  “Of course I did, Jonny. It’s _required_! Too many cuts, too much blood, blah blah blah.”

Jonny nodded. “OK. What about the name?”

Patrick’s shoulders slumped. “That’s where it gets tricky. There’s an online changing name kit I could use, which offers privacy policies, but if I do, I have to change all my documents, Jonny. Everything; ID, passport, driving licence, social security number, _everything_.”

“So now what?” Jonny questioned.

“I can still apply for the licence under my new name and we can have the certificate say Patrick Toews. We have 90 days to return it signed to the Clerk’s office but the website says that just because you used your new name doesn’t mean it’s changed unless you do the kit thing.”

Jonny smiled. “But we don’t need it, do we? They knew you couldn’t change your name on all your documents. All they need is the marriage certificate and it’d still be under Patrick Toews!” His voice was filled with glee and Patrick’s heart fluttered.

He threw himself at Jonny, trying for a hug but ending up covering Jonny’s body with his own. Well, at least the parts he could reach.

Jonny laughed; a deep rumbling sound that made his body shake, moving Patrick’s along the way. “Get off me, you lump!” He was still laughing and the push was gentle and there was not much effort put behind it but it stopped things from getting awkward, because Patrick was very close to losing all sense and just let himself get lost in the feeling of their bodies pressed close together.

“Oh, come on, Tazer, you better get used to the family burden!” Patrick tried to joke his own feelings away. He disentangled himself and continued. “But since I’m now in a good mood, and the bigger person-“

Jonny snorted. “Hey, mister, none of that or I won’t give you your present!” Patrick scolded.

“Kaner, you didn’t have to buy me anything.”

It was Patrick’s turn to snort. “I didn’t! But if there’s a way I can, I’ll book it for you if you want.”

Jonny looked puzzled and Patrick rubbed his palms together, a mischievous grin on his face, as he clicked another link on the website.

“Tada!” He gestured at the screen as the YouTube video began to play and tried to contain his laughter until after Jonny had seen the link.

  _“In December 1970 the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish released 15 Persian ibex in an obscure mountain range on the Mexico border.”_

Seeing Jonny’s face flush pink had Patrick rolling over with laughter.

 “The... Impossible... Goat...” Patrick said amongst his chuckles. When he could breathe a little better again, he added, “You can hunt for _actual goats_!”

Jonny’s flush had reached his collar bone, his loose V-neck shirt doing nothing to hide it. “I’ve already got one,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m marrying you, aren’t I?”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal in New Mexico, Jonny.” Patrick said. “I mean, they do allow first cousins to marry, which ew, but goats-“ he couldn’t continue after that. He just dissolved in another fit of giggles.

“Fuck off, Kaner,” Jonny spat angrily and abruptly shut the laptop lid.

“But Jonny, we aren’t done.”

“You are! So done! I’m revoking your internet privileges. Go get some sleep or whatever.”

“But Jonny-“ Patrick whined.

“Not a word! Go!” Jonny ordered, finger pointing upstairs to the bedroom area.

Patrick did without any further protest, and if he happened to sing “ _Billy goats three Hide by the bridge So the Troll can’t see,_ ” on his way to Jonny’s guest room, who could really blame him?

 



 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Jonny was speechless at the thought and care Patrick had put behind the preparations. Having flown separately two days after Patrick, he hadn’t been sure what he would find once he’d land in New Mexico but Patrick had surprised him once again, having gone above and beyond, exceeding all expectations.

Jonny hadn’t let himself think about the details of the ceremony. Once or twice he had tried, but the images only left him in a raw, brutal state of anguish, longing and heartache; like the perfect dream that ends at daybreak. Under cover of the darkness he could always hide his deepest wishes but who can hide from the brightness of the sun?

Either way, he would never have dreamt what lay in front of him. When Patrick had told him, on their way to applying for the licence, that the Justice of the Peace who would perform the ceremony could do it at his ranch since they hadn’t reserved a venue, Jonny had expected desert and mesquite since that’s all he had seen since he had arrived in Deming. That sight though, all the green, the light and the vines, made him think he was still in dream state even if he had never pictured anything that beautiful before.

The linen covered table - the cloth a tad darker than the shade of Jonny’s clothes - that would be used for the ceremony was placed underneath a broadleaved tree. The whole yard surrounded by a wooden fence and patches of colourful wildflowers scattered all around.

The ring box that was placed on the front centre of the table and white flower petals sprinkled all around it were the only decorations, but instead of seeming empty, it had a minimalistic elegance to it. 

Above all, there was Patrick. Standing beside him in light grey linen pants, five-button vest and a shade lighter shirt that hugged his arms like a glove. The sun shining in his eyes and his dazzling smile outshining everything left Jonny breathless.

He, himself, was wearing what the label classified as ‘natural white’ linen but it kind of looked like beige to Jonny and a four-button vest that Patrick accused him of having painted on. He did looked quite dashing, if he could say so himself.

“Hey, Jonny, ‘you alright? You kind of spaced out on me.” Patrick sounded worried.

“I’m fine. It’s... I think the heat is getting to me,” he lied. He hated lying to Patrick but a white lie was better than blurting out loud something so corny that he’d never let Jonny live it down.

He was expecting a snotty remark about the ‘Great White North’ but all Patrick did was smile at him. “Hang in there, man. We’re almost done. Oh, and before I forget-“Patrick raised his hand and pinned a gardenia boutonniere on Jonny’s chest patting it twice right below before removing his hand. “For the pictures,” he added, gesturing to his own.

“What pictures?”

“Mrs. Hurt offered to take pictures with her camera. We bought a new memory card so we can take it with us when we leave,” he shrugged. “Apparently, eloping, no vows, and no witnesses are OK in her book but she draws the line at no picture taking.”

He sounded amused and that put a smile on Jonny’s face as well.  

“You did good, Kaner” he said, making himself cringe inwardly at how captain-y that made him sound.

He looked at Patrick waiting to see an eye roll but all he saw was a lopsided smile and a flushed face. The sun must have gotten to Patrick. His fair complexion was quite sensitive.

“Are you ready, boys?” Mrs. Hurt said, her voice stronger than her five foot, eighty pound figure would suggest, as she walked towards them, followed by her sons – serving as witnesses – and her husband, who would officiate the ceremony.

“Ye- Yes.” Jonny croaked. He didn’t feel ready. All he felt were butterflies doing summersaults in his stomach and his heart beating so fast he thought it’d burst his rib cage.

Patrick just kept smiling. Jonny would have given all his gold medals to know what was going through his mind.

“You look lovely, Mrs. Hurt.” He added as an afterthought.

“Oh, thank you, dear.” She flushed a lovely shade of pink that made her look a lot younger than her sixty years of age.

Patrick cleared his throat. “Mrs. Hurt can- can we have a moment, please?”

Mrs. Hurt looked as puzzled as Jonny felt but all she said was “Of course, dear. I’ll go take my spot,” she gestured towards a chair a few feet away. “It’s the best angle for the photos,” she added and winked at them.

Her sons had taken their place beside the table but not nearly enough that they could hear them. Mr. Hurt paused for a moment but joined his sons as well.

“Hey, is everything alright?” Jonny asked worriedly.

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, I- I just wanted...” Jonny could see him swallowing with difficulty; he could hear the effort behind the sound. “Just- thanks,” he said at last. “For this-“he gestured around, and if Jonny could find his voice he’d tell him that all the credit was his anyway. “For everything.”

Jonny opened his mouth to say the trite ‘anytime’ but all that came out was

“Anything,” shocking himself to the core.

Patrick looked at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Jonny, I-“

Jonny panicked. The last thing he wanted to hear was Patrick giving him a reality check and a definition of what’s pretend and what’s real. “I mean-, sure, buddy. I have your back, right?”

There was a flash of something in Patrick’s eyes but it passed so quickly that Jonny couldn’t put a name on it. “Right.”

“Is that all?” Jonny questioned since he saw Patrick hesitating.

“Yeah, man, that was it. Just wanted to say thanks, you know?”

Jonny just nodded, unable to find anything else to say to that. He just stood there, staring at Patrick, who averted his eyes, and turning at the direction of the Justice of Peace he gestured him to start.

Mr. Hurt, in a plain white shirt and grey suit pants, took his place behind the table.

“Today we are here to join you in marriage and to share in the joy of this occasion, which should be one of the most memorable and happy days of your life.

On this day of your marriage, you stand somewhat apart from all the other human beings. You stand within the charmed circle of your love; as this is as it should be. But love is not meant to be the possession of two people alone. Rather, it would serve as a source of common energy, as a form in which you find the strength to live your lives with courage.

From this day onward you must come closer together than ever before, you must love one another in sickness and in health, for better and for worse, but at the same time your love should give you the strength to stand apart, to seek out your unique destinies, to make your special contribution to the world which is always part of us and more than us.”

Mr. Hurt paused, looking at them with a serious expression.

Jonny felt his palms sweat with nervousness. He didn’t know what to expect but he feared the worst.

All Mr. Hurt did though was gesture at the box, the cue for them to take the rings.

Jonny stepped towards first and clumsily grabbed the box, disturbing the cloth and having white petals stuck to his sweaty palms.

Mr. Hurt chuckled at Jonny’s embarrassed looking face, and Patrick’s eyes, when Jonny found the courage to meet them, glistened with mirth.

“Shut up!” Jonny growled at him, but there was no heat behind it.

“Here, let me,” Patrick offered, seeing his fumbling with opening it.

Jonny stubbornly declined. “No, I got this.”

It took him three tries but he managed it in the end. He took the rings in his hand and pocketed the box. Palm up, he offered Patrick the ring.

Patrick took it and for a moment Jonny imagined that his fingers lingered a bit. He couldn’t be sure because the feeling of Patrick’s fingertips brushing along his palm send shivers through his body and clouded his mind.

He closed his hand in a tight fist in a hopeless attempt to trap that feeling inside.

“Being assured that you are aware of the meaning of this ceremony,” Mr. Hurt continued, making Jonny come back to reality, “I will now ask you to repeat the marriage vows. Do you, Jonathan Bryan Toews, take this man, Patrick Timothy Kane, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love honour and cherish him through sickness and in health, through times of happiness and travail, until death do you part?”

Jonny’s voice didn’t waver, not even a little. “I do.”

“Place the ring upon his finger and repeat after me.”

Jonny held the ring over the tip of Patrick’s ring finger and repeated “With this ring, I thee wed, and forever pledge my devotion.” He placed the ring all the way onto Patrick’s finger and before he could talk himself out of it, he caressed both the ring and Pat’s finger before removing his hand.

He didn’t dare look at Patrick and was so grateful that Mr. Hurt continued with the ceremony.

“Do you, Patrick Timothy Kane, take this man Jonathan Bryan Toews, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love, honour, and cherish him through sickness and in health, through periods of tranquillity and travail, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Patrick stated, easy and fluidly like he hadn’t just made Jonny’s heart stop.

“Place the ring upon his finger and repeat after me.”

Patrick repeated the process as well the words. “With this ring, I thee wed, and forever pledge my devotion.”

“Please join hands,” Mr. Hurt asked.

Jonny wiped his palms on his pants, unconcerned about the stains it’d probably leave. From the corner of his eye he caught Patrick doing the same thing.

The moment their hands touched, calluses meeting calluses, Jonny felt like a current ran through him.

Patrick’s touch was gentle, almost hesitant, and that made Jonny look up at him.

His eyes were like crystal waters, yet Jonny still couldn’t read what was in them.

“By the act of joining hands, you take to yourself the relation of husbands and solemnly promise to love, honour, comfort, and cherish each other so long as you both shall live. Therefore, in accordance with the law of New Mexico and by virtue of the authority vested in me by the law of New Mexico, I do pronounce you married.”

Jonny and Patrick were just standing there, staring at each other as if they were trying to decipher a complicated code.

Mr. Hurt cleared his throat so loudly it made both of them jump, hands falling at their sides in a spastic motion. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “This is the part where you kiss.”

“Oh... Ehm... Yeah.” Jonny made a mental note to consider his level of patheticness at a later time.

He looked down to find Patrick’s shining blue eyes staring up at him questioningly. He leaned forward hesitantly, as if seeking Jonny’s approval.

Jonny leaned even closer, a clear invitation.

Patrick moved his arm to Jonny’s shoulder; not gripping, just there, a feather touch, weightless. It still felt like an anchor that grounded him.

Jonny closed his eyes and their lips met before he remembered to take a breath.

The kiss was tender and soft and far too short for Jonny’s liking.

Patrick was the one who stepped back first when Jonny just wanted to chase after his mouth’s taste.

He didn’t have the chance, which was probably a good thing. Mr. Hurt gave them a pen and showed them where to sign.

Jonny signed and watched Patrick do it as well. The signature was a familiar mixture of curves and loops but the new letter ‘T’ was quite prominent.

Jonny looked at Patrick questioningly and got nothing but a shrug in reply.

Paul and Jason signed it next, and Mr. Hurt concluded the ceremony.

“You came to me as two single people and you will now leave as a married couple, united to each other by the binding contract you have just entered. Your cares, your worries, your pleasures and your joys you must share with each other. The best of good fortune to both of you, Mr. and Mr. Toews.”

It all left a bittersweet taste in Jonny’s mouth.

He gave a mental shrug. Being fake-married to Patrick was better than never marrying him at all.

 




	5. Chapter 5

Patrick was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Planning a fake wedding while wishing it was real, going through with it trying not to let the longing seep through, coming up with excuses to his family as to why they were not needed at the house and worrying about the sent papers, all in a matter of a few weeks had taken its toll on him.

For a brief moment he caught himself wondering if it was all worth it, until he saw the house again. The newly planted trees, the fresh coat of paint on the porch, the improvements in the structure - that was all visible, but what he really saw were past memories painted by the stories his grandfather used to share. That one old tree in the corner where he had carved his initials, even though Patrick knew they had faded long ago; that one step he had tripped as a boy and skidded his knee, even though the porch had been rebuilt twice since then and that one window on the right which used to light his childhood bedroom, even though Aunt Emily had converted it into a guest room years before.

All Patrick saw were yellowed-out photographs; he could only smell his grandfather’s scent and all he could feel were wrinkled hands giving comfort.

He wasn’t sure why that was happening since he had been there numerous times in all his years. Moreover, his grandfather hadn’t lived in there for decades. But something about the possibility of owning it made his throat close from the overwhelming feelings. Maybe it was stupid and overemotional, but he didn’t really care.

“Hey, what are you doing out here? Didn’t the key work?” Jonny asked as he was dragging his suitcase up the porch steps.

He startled Patrick who was just standing there, key in hand and mind a thousand miles away. “Huh?”

“The key, Kaner. Doesn’t it work?”

Patrick looked at the key dumbly, then back at Jonny. “Oh, I haven’t tried it.”

Jonny, who had reached his side, looked at him worryingly. “Are you alright?”

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just-“

“Tell me you’re not still worrying about the papers,” Jonny scolded. “God, you’re so paranoid!”

“Hey!” he protested “I resent that!”

Jonny snorted. “Sure, because putting the copy in an envelope, then another and then both of them in a third much larger one screams sanity to you, right?”

Patrick shoved him, probably harder than he intended but not hard enough. He was too tired. “Fuck off!”

 Jonny kept his gaze on him, searching- for what Patrick didn’t know. “Hey, it’s OK. Everything’s going to be fine” he said soothingly, placing his hand on Patrick’s shoulder and squeezing gently.

Patrick swallowed hard. Jonny’s kindness and understanding did nothing to help keep control of his emotions. “Come on, let’s get inside and crash. You look like death warmed over.” He was a lying liar who lied. In reality, Jonny looked like he had just rolled out of bed; tousled hair and rosy cheeks and so rejuvenated like he had slept for a week straight. It was so unfair!

He was expecting one of Jonny’s horrible quips, but what he got was even worse.

“We can’t all be naturally beautiful like you.” Jonny said it with a straight face and a deadpan tone like he hadn’t just mocked Patrick’s ... everything.

Patrick hated when Jonny did that because he had no grounds for either pouting or retaliating. He muttered “asshole” under his breath anyway and unlocked the door. Though he couldn’t see him, he was sure Jonny was being smug as he followed.

“Holy shit!” Jonny exclaimed. “What the hell is this?” He sounded truly horrified and Patrick couldn’t help but laugh.

“This,” he said gesturing around, “is Aunt Emily’s souvenir collection!”

Jonny groaned. “Dear God! Please shoot me now!”

Not often, but Jonny did, occasionally, have a flair for the dramatic. Patrick found it endearing.

“Calm down, dude. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Kaner, this is a,” Jonny pointed at the second case, “a kangaroo scrotum pouch! That’s – that’s disgusting!”

“It’s supposed to bring good luck,” Patrick explained, but Jonny looked anything but convinced. He looked kind of pale, like the whole sight not only offended his taste but physically hurt him as well.

“Jesus! Please, please, tell me this is mint condition!” Jonny pleaded sounding at the end of his rope as he was gesturing towards a collectible ‘Crown Jewels Condom’ box.

Patrick couldn’t reconcile ‘Captain Exhibitionist’ with ‘Jonny the blushing prude’ in his head but the situation was so hilarious that the only thing he was able to do was give a chortle.

“Stop laughing, Kaner,” Jonny hissed, cheeks flaming even more. “There’s a... keychain- Why would anyone put... _that_ in a keychain?”

Patrick doubled over with laughter at Jonny’s incredulous expression over the wooden dick keychain, finding himself unable to breathe. He tried so hard to get himself in check that he missed Jonny’s fist punching him in the shoulder.

It was just a light rap, nothing forceful but it was so unexpected that Patrick lost his footing. He reached for the closest thing to grab which happened to be Jonny’s bicep. Unexpected as it was, instead of anchoring Patrick it made it able for him to drag Jonny along with him.

Patrick’s head collided with the wall with a thud and what saved both of them from Jonny’s body crashing into Patrick’s with force were Jonny’s quick reflexes.

He put one palm flush against the wall to support them both, the other, the one Patrick was still clutching at, wrapped around Pat’s waist. They did avoid the impact but ended up too close for Patrick’s comfort.

Jonny’s smell, which hit Patrick’s nostrils, made him want to bury his nose in his neck to inhale the scent. Jonny’s heaving breath raising goose bumps and the heat radiating from his body slowly burned Patrick with want from inside out.

He wished with all his heart that he could tear his eyes away from Jonny’s dark ones, close his eyelids and pretend he was unaffected. Instead, his mouth parted involuntarily, his tongue darting between his lips to lick the dryness away.

He could have sworn Jonny’s eyes became even darker but everything was hazy and blurry. As Patrick was about to throw all logic out of the window and probably ruin everything by closing the space between them and assaulting Jonny’s mouth, a  short, sharp intake of breath was heard from the direction of the door.

“Oh, my!” a female voice exclaimed. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I just let myself in, I hope you don’t mind.”

She didn’t sound apologetic at all, quite the opposite really. Patrick suppressed a groan but couldn’t contain the death glare. He couldn’t master the way Jonny usually did it but he was trying to mimic it.

Jonny had straightened himself up and had taken several steps away from him, looking mostly embarrassed, a fact that made Patrick’s heart sink. It was another indicator that he had been in that moment alone once again.

He gave a mental head shake and straightened himself as well. “Agatha, a pleasure to see you,” he lied.

She didn’t seem to see through it or she chose to ignore it. “I was expecting you in the morning,” she said while hugging Patrick, “but I saw the car in the driveway and figured it’d be you.”

Patrick gave her an awkward pat on the back.

“And you’re Jonathan.” Her smiley face could fool someone into thinking she was a sweet old lady but Patrick knew better. It was a good thing he had thought of warning Jonny.

Jonny extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure, madam,” he said curtly.

She ignored it in favour of another hug. “Oh! You silly boy!” She giggled. She actually giggled. Patrick threw up in his mouth a little. “Come,” she urged as she detached herself from Jonny - with effort on his part Patrick would add,  and, OK getting possessive over Jonny was not a new thing but it had never happened before over an old lady. “Let’s have a seat. You must be tired. It was a long drive, wasn’t it? And look at the time! You must be famished. Should we go to my house instead? I don’t think there’s anything in the pantry for you to cook. I made lasagne and a cherry pie and you can meet Luna. She is the sweetest thing! I don’t know how I can part with her.”

Jonny didn’t have to speak for Patrick to know he was overwhelmed. It was one thing to have ten reporters shoving microphones into your face and ask a bunch of questions and another to be subjected to Agatha’s chattering. The first one was something they were trained for and used to but Agatha... not something you’re equipped enough to handle.

“Eh-em. Agatha... That’s ... very kind of you to offer, “ he said, hoping he didn’t sound as insincere as he felt. “But it’s late and we’re exhausted. We grabbed a bite on our way and we just want to shower and crash. We can do it tomorrow, maybe?”

Agatha looked dejected, her petite form and disappearing smile making her look vulnerable, but Patrick didn’t allow himself to feel bad; and rightly so, because her sour disposition lasted but a mere second. 

“Oh, of course, dear!” Her sugary tone was enough to drive anyone into a diabetic coma. “Tomorrow works best anyway. The Elks wanted to see you as well. How about lunch?”

Patrick and Jonny exchanged worried glances but the pause was enough for Agatha to start rambling again. “Oh! I know! We can have a barbeque! It’s been a while since we had a block gathering. The newcomers hosted the last one and let me tell you, that man could not even light the grill. I don’t know why they even have one, other than to flaunt their new money around. Never mind that now,” she gestured dismissively, “we’ll have to invite them anyway, so you’ll see for yourself. Does 6:30 work for you?”

Patrick could sense Jonny’s agitation from two seats away and the same panic threatened to swallow him whole as well. “I ... We ... We don’t think that’s a good idea, Agatha. People seeing us together here... it’ll... not...”

Jonny reached from his seat and held Patrick’s hand. The touch was soft but the calming effect it had on Patrick was something he’d have to consider at a later time.

“What Patrick means, Mrs. Agatha-“ Jonny said, sending waves of relief through Patrick.

“Just Agatha, sweetheart. I insist.” Her heart eyes could be seen from Mars and Patrick wanted to gouge them out with his bare hands. God, he was being absurd!

“Agatha,” Jonny’s voice turned serious and Patrick couldn’t wait to see Agatha’s reaction to him going into captain mode. “You are very kind but I’m sure you understand how drawing attention to ourselves could be potentially very damaging to us.”

Agatha blanched. “I didn’t think of that. Of course, you are right, Jonathan. My dear Emily, God rest her soul, always said you were a very sensible young man. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll meet at 6:30. I’ll call Cat and John- that’s the Elks dear- and make it a small dinner, just the five of us. I’ll make Caprese chicken pasta and a cheesecake for desert. How does that sound?”

Patrick knew when he had been defeated. He didn’t let Jonny shoulder this as well so he answered instead. “It sounds great, Agatha.”

Agatha sat up with a gleeful expression on her face. “Excellent! It’s settled then.”

They stood up as well and, though unintentional, it was a happy coincidence that Patrick’s body was keeping Jonny’s out of reach.

Jonny had to screw it all up by drawing attention to himself. “Do you need us to bring anything?” Damn Jonny and his stupid Canadian politeness.

Agatha beamed at him. “That won’t be necessary, dear.”

“We’ll bring some wedding pictures, “Patrick chimed in, diverting attention. “I think I have some in my camera still. I know Aunt Emily would have loved sharing them with you.”

It was a half truth. She would have indeed but Patrick mostly offered to cover all his bases.

That earned him a genuine smile. “That would be lovely.”

“And ice cream for Kaner,” Jonny added, making both Patrick and Agatha look at him puzzled at the suggestion.

Jonny’s ears pinked. Patrick didn’t know if it was by the attention or the registration of his words. He didn’t let anything more slip though. He just shrugged his shoulders. “Patrick likes ice cream with his cheesecake,” he said meekly.

He was being sweet and considerate and anyone else would have loved it, revel in it, but Patrick’s heart sunk. The look on Agatha’s face told him she thought of it as a doting husband gesture but Patrick knew it as the routine it had always been.

They bid their goodbyes and Patrick walked her to the door. When he returned he found Jonny in the same spot.

“So, that was Agatha, huh?” It was more of a statement than a question.

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah.”

Jonny scrunched his face. “We’re so fucked.”

 

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	6. Chapter 6

Waking up beside Patrick was both familiar and foreign at the same time.

They’d slept in the same room more times than Jonny could count but never in the same bed before. Falling asleep on each other’s shoulders during a flight or a bus ride certainly could neither compare nor count.

He had seen Patrick messy haired, drowsy eyed and soft faced before but he had never witnessed up close and personal that brief moment when his eyelids first opened and all that infinite blue, still hazy and blurry, lit up and came to life.

He was already familiar with Patrick’s smells; the sweat from the game and the heat, even the one from a night lost in alcohol, the freshly showered one; it was the first time ever that he had inhaled Patrick’s sleepy musk with his head buried on the crook of Jonny’s shoulder.

Jonny’s hands had gripped Patrick’s hard muscles, he had felt his surprising soft beard, he had touched his calloused palms, but he had never known how smooth his skin was while nuzzling against his neck.

For a brief moment Jonny thought he was dreaming, so he let himself relax instead of tensing up. Patrick mumbled a raspy “sorry”, disentangled himself and headed towards the bathroom.

Jonny buried his face, along with his frustration, in his pillow, and let out a heavy sigh. He wished he could stop the clock just for a few seconds and keep that feeling a while longer, cherish it and lock it in a vault in his mind so he would be able to go back on it all the future mornings he’d wake up alone.

That brief moment when he didn’t care that the sun was hitting his eyes because someone had forgotten to close the drapes, or that his inner clock was protesting from the abrupt awakening; that moment when the only thing that mattered was Patrick, warm and pliant tucked in his side.

He forced himself to get up and follow him. They had long gone from the awkward “you can have the bathroom first” to brushing their teeth beside each other, but never before had Jonny been so painfully aware that this closeness that had already existed wouldn’t always be so, not in the same context or the same way.

His eyes turned to his hand involuntarily. His gold band felt somehow heavier, dragging his heart lower and lower until it sunk. Beside him, Patrick looked unaffected, gargling and making bubbles and obnoxious sounds.

Jonny rushed his way through his morning routine, deciding to be horrified later by the half-assed hygiene attempt, and instead of his usual morning shower he went about doing what he did best: beat his frustration, and himself, into shape.

He dropped on the floor, his back turned away from the bathroom’s door, and started doing crunches.

He could hear the water running and could almost perfectly picture a wet Patrick: broad shoulders and narrow hips, muscles straining underneath, those lashes caressing the hollow points under his closed eyes, his lips full and pink and moist.

It reminded him why he had kept his distance. His resolve had been starting to fade little by little and Jonny feared that one day he would fail to keep control of himself and do something stupid that would break them apart for good.

He gritted his teeth and worked himself harder, trying to block the sounds and clear the visuals. He was, mostly, successful.

Whatever progress he had made shuttered when Patrick emerged from the bathroom, with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist.

“What ‘you trying to do, man? Kill yourself?” Patrick joked.

Jonny shut his eyes so he couldn’t see Pat’s reflection on the window glass and just grunted.

Patrick held his hands up in mock surrender “Wow! Someone is grumpier than usual! What happened? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the b-”

Jonny opened his eyes in time to see the cringe on Patrick’s face as he half-finished his sentence. That alone spoke volumes to him about Patrick’s feelings on them sharing a bed. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt to have caught it.

“Look, you were the one who said it’d be better this way, with Agatha being all -  you know, but if you’re not OK with it-“

“Dude, no. I- It’s no big deal. I just – I didn’t mean-“Patrick looked so uncomfortable Jonny almost felt sorry for him. “I realized it’d be a bad joke to make, that’s all.”

“Oh.” It was the only thing Jonny could find to say.

“I mean- I was all over you- well, not _all over you_ like-“ Patrick’s hand went up and down in the air gesturing at Jonny’s body.

“Kaner-“

“You know, I take up too much space in the bed, I like to sprawl in the middle and that can’t be comfortable and you’re nice enough to, you know- and I did wake you up, so I thought, you know, bad form and all that-“

“Kaner,” Jonny repeated a little louder. “It’s OK.”

“And you’ve already- What?”

Jonny couldn’t help the fond smile. “Relax, it’s no big deal.”

“Oh, OK.”

“If it happens again, though, I’ll probably shove you off the bed, just fair warning, eh?” Jonny didn’t mean it, not even a little, but Patrick didn’t have to know that.

Patrick scoffed. “I’d like to see you try! Now go shower ‘cause you stink and I want breakfast!”

Jonny was about to protest and rise to the challenge but Patrick walked over to his side of the bed and dropped his towel as he took clean clothes out of his duffel to change.

Jonny dashed out of the room into the bathroom, mouth dry and heart beating wildly in his chest. It was going to be a long summer.

 

\--------------------------------------------

 

“Kaner, you need to calm down!” Jonny was getting worried with all the pacing and fuming.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m perfectly calm!” Patrick shouted, continuing to rearrange things in the cupboards.

Jonny rolled his eyes but softened his voice, not wanting to irritate Patrick further. “Sure, buddy, OK.”

Patrick stopped his ministrations and gave Jonny a death glare. “Are you mocking me?”

“No, buddy, not at all.” Jonny deadpanned.

Patrick glared some more and then relaxed his shoulders a bit, seeming less defensive. “I don’t get it man. Why doesn’t it bother you?”

“She was just trying to be nice, Kaner. She knew we couldn’t go out and about, so she did some grocery shopping for us. What’s the big deal? It’s another thing we can check off our list.” Jonny tried to reason.

 Patrick huffed “Yeah, nice my ass! She just wanted to meddle! I told you she does that, didn’t I? You weren’t here Jonny! You were too busy soaking your muscles for hours while I had to deal with her!”

“Do you think, maybe-“Jonny paused trying to make it sound as polite as possible, “you’re overreacting a bit? “

“Overreacting? “ _‘Why did you choose the back bedroom, Patrick? The one on the left has a much bigger space; though it does have a smaller bed, come to think of it.’_ ‘ _You should really open up the windows to air the house, Patrick. Luna can’t stand heavy smells.’‘Thank God I came on time ‘cause you poor things would starve yourselves to death, but you should lay off the ice cream Patrick, you’re getting flabby around the middle.’ ‘Tell that husband of yours not to overdo it with the working out; you’re on vacation you know!’”_ Patrick quoted in a mocking, old-lady voice. “I’m not overreacting; I should get a gold star for not punching her in her damn face!”

Jonny couldn’t help but laugh. He had been a bit upset when he first heard it but after the fifth time and Patrick’s impressions of Agatha he just felt amused. “Hey, at least she knocked this time!”

Patrick didn’t share the sentiment. “Really, Jonny? I mean- _really_?”

Jonny sighed deeply. He approached Patrick as he would have a baby deer. “Look, she is how she is and we can do nothing to change it. We can’t jeopardize your chances here, OK?” He said softly.

Patrick’s anger deflated. “You’re really OK with this?”

Jonny didn’t lie. “No, not really. It feels weird to have people scrutinize our every move but we’re used to it, right? And you did good, Kaner. No- you did _great_!  We have a goal here and that’s what we should focus on.”

Patrick gave him the stink eye. “I don’t need a pep talk, Captain.”

Jonny shrugged. “Well, maybe _I_ do.”

Patrick recoiled as if he had been hit. “I’m sorry. If you can’t – If this is too much-“

“Hey, no, OK? It’s fine. I can deal. I think maybe being cooped up in here for too long is starting to get to me.”

Patrick laughed, actually laughed, and Jonny hadn’t realised how much he had missed that sound all day. “We’ve been here less than a day, Jonny!”

Jonny shrugged. “Yeah, well, binge watching Game of Thrones on your laptop is not my idea of fun!”

Patrick clutched his chest in mock horror. “You did not just say that!”

 “Yes, I just did! Deal with it!”

“But Jonny -“

“No.” Jonny cut him off. “Stop trying to stall and go get ready. We have a dinner to go to.” 

Patrick scrunched his face in disgust. “I don’t want to. She probably poisoned my food.”

“Kaner!”

“What? She could have. She keeps that dog hostage, doesn’t she?”

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? She probably just doesn’t want to part with it. Plus, I don’t think she could get away with poisoning you, even if she wanted to. Which, for the record, I don’t think she does.”

Patrick shook his head. “No, I’m not buying it. She’s plotting something.”

“Yeah. She is likely to withhold the ice-cream, since you’re getting flabby and all!” Jonny couldn’t help but tease. He wanted to since he heard Agatha’s comment but Patrick hadn’t been in a state that would stand the chirping.

“I’m not!” Patrick protested.

“Well, I don’t know-“Jonny paused for effect “You did seem kind of heavy this morning.”

He didn’t see it coming, but he felt the sting on his arm where Patrick slapped him- hard.

“Hey, that’s spousal abuse!”

“Yeah, well, you can use it as a reason for our divorce. Let’s see if the judge sides with someone who calls his husband _fat_!”

Patrick left the room hurriedly but all Jonny could hear was his words on a loop: “ _husband, divorce, husband, divorce...”_

It felt like he had taken a hit right in the chest, making breathing a hard thing to do. For a fake situation, the hurt was in fact real.



 -----------------------------------------

 

Patrick re-emerged a while later, giving Jonny the silent treatment. Still, Jonny could see he was anything but calm, which he hoped had everything to do with the dinner and nothing whatsoever with their previous banter.

Jonny could never stay mad at him for long but Patrick knew how to hold a grudge if he chose to. It threw Jonny off course. He didn’t know how to function in a world where their interpersonal relationship was unbalanced.

“Just breathe, OK?” He said softly as they were about to knock on Agatha’s door. “Everything’s going to be fine. Radiate positive vibes.”

Patrick side-eyed him. “Spare me your hippie bullshit, Tazer.”

OK then, maybe he was still upset with him.

Agatha opened the door before they had a chance to ring. “Welcome, boys!”

No one moved, they just stood there awkwardly, fidgeting.

“Well, come on in. Don’t just stand there.” She gestured inside the house.

Jonny followed Agatha inside, giving Patrick a few seconds to compose himself. “Thank you for the invite,” he offered politely. “And the shopping. It was so nice of you.”

He could feel Patrick shooting daggers at his back.

“Oh, it was nothing.” Agatha said dismissively.

She guided them into the living room where the Elks were sitting. “Cat, John, this is Jonathan, Patrick’s husband,” she introduced him, before excusing herself to the kitchen to continue her preparations.

They exchanged handshakes and pleasantries, and Cat hugged Patrick asking him how he was holding up. Her kind face and grey hair reminded Jonny of his grandmother, always fussing and coddling everyone. Her husband, with his bushy white beard and his plastic-framed glasses on a reddish round nose looked like the grandpa who would sit around the fire telling stories.

Patrick was not exactly warm towards them, but he seemed to like them better than Agatha so that was a relief.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence as they settled on the sofa, Cat was the first to speak. “So, Jonathan, how do you like it here? Agatha says it’s your first visit.”

Jonny didn’t know if it was a dig at his absence at the funeral or not but he was certain he had to tread lightly. “Yes madam. Our schedule can be very demanding.“ He shrugged in a kind of ‘what can you do’ way.

“Jonny prefers Canada anyway.” Patrick said with a frozen grin on his face.

Jonny could sense an underlining... something, like bitterness, but that would have been absurd. He reached and carefully settled his hand on Patrick’s. “The truth is,” he said, looking Patrick straight in the eyes, daring him to argue, “that we both prefer hanging around Chicago as long as we can. It’s our home.”

The Elks smiled at them, nodding understandingly and Jonny didn’t miss the way they were looking at their joined hands.

“Speaking of home,” Cat asked again. “How do you like the house Jonathan?”

Patrick snickered beside him. “He was ... impressed by the decor.”

Both Elks laughed along with him, making the atmosphere a bit warmer. When it faded, Cat leaned a little towards them and whispered: “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret,” she said conspiratorially “Emily, God rest her soul, hated those things!” 

She started laughing again, wholeheartedly, leaving both Patrick and Jonny shell-shocked.

“It’s true.” John confirmed, clearly amused. “The cases have blinds. I installed them myself. She kept them closed until someone came to visit.”

“Then why-“ Jonny mumbled.

“Shock value,” the Elks said in unison.

Patrick gripped Jonny’s hand, still resting on his and with wide open eyes pleaded with him “Please, Jonny, we can’t tell my sisters. Please!”

It was now Jonny’s turn to wonder. “Why?”

With a mischievous grin on his face, Patrick answered: “Because, they inherited them. Split equally in three.”

Jonny stood there, with a stupid smile on his face, wondering how Patrick couldn’t know that there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for him, when he felt something licking on his toes.

His foot reflective kicked and that was when he heard a high-pitched whine. He looked down horrified to see Luna, he presumed, looking up at him with big brown eyes, her tongue lolling out of her mouth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he apologized. He let go of Patrick’s hand and crouched down to her height. “Come here, girl.” He extended his hand slowly.

Luna measured him up for a few seconds, and then suddenly jumped at him playfully. “There you go!” He cooed, hugging the dog and carrying her back to his seat.

She nuzzled his chest while Jonny continued to coo. “Such a good girl!” He praised while petting her.

He turned to Patrick and saw him watching, a weird expression on his face. “She’s so cute, isn’t she?”

Patrick nodded and raised his hand to scratch behind her ears.

Luna turned her head abruptly and growled at him. It was as intimidating as a Maltese could muster, but it was loud enough to scare Patrick, who withdrew his hand and tucked it away safely.

Jonny thought he caught a glimpse of hurt in his eyes, but he wasn’t entirely sure.

“So – Patrick, what do you think your chances are for next week?” John asked, preventing the situation from getting awkward once again.

“What?”

“You know, the awards. We were actually surprised you were here this weekend since-“

Patrick jumped up his seat spewing a string of curses so loudly Agatha came rushing in. “Fuck! Shit! Crap! Damn!”

Everyone was staring at him but he was only looking at Jonny. “The awards! I forgot about the awards!”

 




	7. Chapter 7

Searching through his duffle for a clean change of clothes, Patrick couldn’t help but think that only a handful of times in his whole life loading a bag and going away had made him feel this miserable.

He had woken up cuddling a pillow, sleepily seeking that warmth he had felt in Jonny’s arms and being crushed waking up in an empty bed alone. It scared him how easy it was to get used to something in such a short amount of time. It gave him that feeling of being consumed by incredible hunger, ready to appease it with the most heavenly meal, only to have it snatched away from him right before it touched his lips.

Nothing had been able to fill that void inside. It was like a bottomless pit that was never satisfied, no matter how much time he spent feeding it with family and golfing and chirping contests with fellow hockey players.

Not even the possibility of winning one or more prestigious awards and rubbing it in the faces of all those who doubted him. It terrified him how much of his personal happiness depended on Jonny.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t have a good time without him; that’d make for a sad, miserable life considering the time they spent apart. It was the fact that, while he was missing him and regretting having cut whatever borrowed time they already had together short, Jonny seemed to have gone back to his life like nothing had happened.

Like the gold bands that were left tucked away in a drawer and the wedding pictures on the memory card were just a movie they watched together, and Jonny forgot the plot as soon as they left the theatre.

Not that Patrick could blame him, really. You can’t hold a grudge for someone not reciprocating your feelings, but you can be sad about it nonetheless. It was his own fault anyway, for allowing himself to get lost in the lie.

He felt so tired and drained, kind of like being on a double overtime and barely feel your body, but having to dig deep to find something to keep you going. Only Patrick lacked the end game here.  

There was a knock on his door, so he shelved those thoughts, but not before making a mental note to himself to remember the _fake_ in his marriage when he returned to Williamsville.

He opened the door and Jess came into the room without saying a word. She just closed the door behind her while scrutinizing him the whole time.

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked, trying to sound casual and not at all freaked out.

Patrick flopped down on his bed, almost sitting on his laptop that was dropped there after his internet search had raised his blood pressure.

“Funny thing, I was about to ask you the same.”

“I was just going to change and come back down.”

“And yet it’s been over an hour and you haven’t even showered,” Jess pointed out the obvious.

Patrick looked down at himself. “Yeah, I just needed some down time, I guess.”

“It seems like you need a lot of it lately.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked puzzled.

Jess sighed deeply, as she sat down towards the foot of the bed. “Look, I know you’re your own person, and I know that our presence in your life can be overwhelming at times-“

“What? What are you talking about?” Patrick protested. They never felt like a burden, more like an anchor that doesn’t keep you put but grounds you instead, keep you from floating away without safety.

“Pat, we’re everywhere! All the time! Sometimes it seems like you never flew the coop at all!”

Patrick leaned close and hugged his sister tightly. “Hey, I love having you guys around, OK? No one makes me, Jess. I choose to.”

“You just- you seem so distant lately, so sad. You’ve hidden yourself away in that house, not wanting any help or anyone around... I worry about you, Pat. This is so unlike you.”

“It has nothing to do with you guys, OK? So you stop worrying and tell the others, too, alright?”

Patrick felt Jess tense under his arms. He pulled away slightly to look at her face.

“Is that what you think this is?” She asked, clearly upset and shocked at the same time. “That I’m somehow a means for the family to meddle?”

“Jess, no. I just thought – “

“That I can’t possibly care enough for my brother to notice that something’s wrong with him.”

“Come on, Jess. I didn’t mean it like that, OK?” Patrick tried to reassure her.  “And there’s no reason for you to worry. I’m fine.”

Jessica raised her brow.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” he insisted.

“No, you’re not.” Jess said with conviction. “And I know that I’m not Jackie or Erica. I’m not your go to sister for playing sports or asking fashion tips -“

“Jess, come on- you can’t seriously think that I-“ Patrick protested.

“Let’s be real here, I’m never your first choice but I’m OK with it. I’m not here for that. This isn’t about me. This is about you bottling everything up and hiding in your shell like a scared turtle. And if handling whatever it is that bothers you alone is what you truly need then I’ll back off. But if you can’t carry it yourself and you don’t want to ask for help because you feel like you’ve burdened us enough already... What I’m trying to say is – you’re not alone. Not if you don’t want to be. I’m here. Just that, I guess.”

He had felt parts of him crack since she started talking. By the end of it they had already shattered. The emotions were too much to handle. He never stopped to think. In a moment of weakness he broke down and dropped his shields.

With every word that came out of his mouth he felt lighter. Not less heartbroken, but not like the weight of the world was entirely upon his shoulders.

Jess never said a word but Pat could read a myriad of emotions in her face. Sympathy was the one that nearly made him shut up, but once the floodgates were open, he couldn’t turn back. He hated letting others see him vulnerable.  At least he never, not once, felt judged, and that was part of what kept him going.

“So... aren’t you gonna ... say anything?” He asked after he had finished.

“I- I mean- Why?” Jess mumbled, clearly baffled.

“Why what?”

“Why go to all that trouble? You already have grandpa’s house, Pat. The one he lived and died in. The one we grew up playing in the garden of, where he taught you to play chess and kept getting mad at you for chirping him for losing.”

“So, I tell you I fake married Jonny and that I’m actually in love with him and wishing it was real and you focus on the house?”

“Well, it was what started all this, or wasn’t it?”

Patrick sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, God, you’re turning into a facebook status,” Jess groaned.

Patrick chuckled. “If only it was that easy. Honestly, I don’t know, Jess, OK?  I haven’t even thought about owning the house until she left it to me in her will. It- it just felt -- it _feels_ important. I can’t really explain it. It’s like the more I have the less I lose of him.”

Jess’ face softened. “I get it. The mind is a tricky thing. Sometimes memories fade away, slip though without you even noticing but things... they stay. And when you look at them it helps you remember just a little bit better, a little bit longer.”

Lost in his own emotions, he kept forgetting that he wasn’t the only one grieving.

“Is it worth it?” Jess finally asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know, not anymore.” It pained him to say it, but everything was a jumbled mess in his head. “I’m fine really, most of the time. I just – I think the wedding was what got me the most. But I’m not backing out now, Jess.”

“And Jon?”

“What about him?”

“What happens after this?”

Patrick shrugged. “We’ll just get an annulment and go back to how things were I guess.”

“That easy, huh?”

Patrick shook his head. “Not even a little bit. But what can I do, Jess?”

“What is that you want, Pat?”

“I want to be with him. I want this to be real,” he answered without a second thought.

“And what? Play hide and seek with the world? You both have a good ten years left playing, Pat. Don’t you think sneaking around and stealing moments would take a toll on both of you?”

“If he was in it with me, we would have made it, Jess, trust me.”

He had so much faith in Jonny. He never made a promise he couldn’t keep. He had kept them all ever since he looked at him and promised him to fill the place up and bring hockey back to Chicago. Together, nothing was impossible.

Jess rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Patrick Timothy Kane, you’re my brother and I love you but I swear to God, you can be so dense sometimes. He married you, for fuck’s sake. I don’t care how tight bros you are or whatever, no one stakes their future, their livelihood like that. Not unless there’s so much more going on.”

Patrick kept shaking his head and reached for his laptop. He turned it on and went through his browser history. He found the video he was looking for and played it for her.

“See? I was hardly even gone when he went back to his life, Jess - fitness training with his buddies and taking his clothes off, posting it online for the world to see. He’s not exactly pining after me, is he? We’re talking Segs level of exhibitionism here for fuck’s sake!” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, or his jealousy.

“I fail to see the evidence here, Pat. He is just working out, keeping up with his schedule now that you don’t need him. It’s not like he’s shooting porn or anything.”

Patrick gaped at her. “First of all, don’t ever utter that word again! You don’t even know what it means!”

“Oh boy, have I got news for you, big brother!”

Patrick covered his ears with his palms. “La, la, la, la, la .... No, no, I’m not hearing this.”

Jess pried his hands away. “Stop being childish, and stop deflecting. What’s so wrong about this?” she gestured towards the video. “Except how unfair it is that he is so fit!”

Patrick groaned. “That! That is the problem, Jess. Hundreds of people watching and drooling over him and I’m one of them. I’m no different, I’m exactly like them. I can watch but I can’t touch; I can want but I can never have. Miles away or a few feet apart and he’s still ... _intangible_.”

“You’re selling yourself short, Pat. You’re quite the catch.”

Patrick felt his cheeks heat up. It wasn’t the compliment, rather the fact that his sister was trying to boost his ego. It was kind of embarrassing. “You have to say that, you’re my sister. I’ll have you know that many disagree with you.”

“Screw them!” She said vehemently.

When Patrick opened his mouth ready to object, she cut him off. “Seriously, Pat, fuck them. Haters gonna hate, remember?”

He flopped down on the bed with a groan “Even maybe-soon-to-be my dog hates me, Jess.”

Jess laughed for the first time since she came to see him. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Pat. The dog doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes, she does,” he insisted.

“Not possible. No one that knows you can really hate you.”

“Sorry to break it to you, sis, but a lot of people hate me.”

“Yeah, well, they’re stupid!”

Patrick chuckled. “You can’t call people stupid just because they don’t like me, Jess.”

“I can and I just did,” she was adamant. “And if Jonny doesn’t love you, then he’s stupid too and he doesn’t deserve you.”

Patrick felt his eyes well up. He stood up and enveloped her in the tightest hug he had ever given her. “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you, too, you doofus!”

They hugged for a moment longer then pulled apart silently. Patrick blinked to keep the tears from falling while Jess kept staring at him weirdly.

“OK, what is it? Out with it.”

Jess blushed at getting caught staring probably “It’s nothing.”

“Jess ...”

“So, are you, like... gay?”

Patrick froze. It finally registered with him that he unwittingly had just come out to his sister. Oddly enough, the realisation did not freak him out. He just groaned. “You know I hate labels. It’s like they keep following me around. Too short, too small, too wild, too... something.”

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean- I just... because you never said- I... just forget it, alright. It doesn’t matter.”

She looked so horrified with herself that Patrick took pity on her. “Bi, I guess, if you want to get technical.”

Jess just nodded.

“But you can’t tell anyone, OK? Not yet. I’m ... there’s not a good reason for me to stir that shit up now. Not after everything that has happened.”

She lifted her index finger and crossed it above her heart. “Not a word, I swear.”

“So ... are we... you know, are we cool?” OK, maybe he was a tad worried.

Jess’ face hardened and the slap on the back of his head came out of nowhere.

“Ouch!” he screamed. “What the hell was that for?”

Jess raised her brow. “Seriously? For the sake of your physical integrity- and mine, because the Hawks are gonna kill me if I break one of their star players, I’ll pretend you did not just ask me that. Deal?”

Patrick nodded his head sheepishly.

They stayed silent for a moment but then Jess asked, “So ... have you ... you know, with a guy?”

Patrick’s arms flailed “No, no, we are not having this conversation. I get it. You’re supportive, you don’t care, nothing’s changed, but NO.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re twelve and you know nothing about any of this and that’s how it’s going to be until you’re at least fifty, OK?”

“God, you’re so delusional! I had boyfriends, you know!”

“No, no and did I mention NO?”

“Patrick ...”

“NO. Go away. I have to shower and change. I have things to do and places to be, alright?” He said, gesturing at himself and his dishevelled clothing.

“Fine, have it your way, but if you ever-“

“No, that will never happen. Never!” He crossed his arms to his chest for dramatic effect. “Now can you please go, because I have to go meet BreadMan and drown my sorrows in vodka?”

Jess stood up and headed towards the exit. She paused at the door, taking a good look at him. “One last thing. Before you go about judging Jon, you may want to buy yourself some new T-shirts. Preferably, two sizes larger because that poor fabric seems ready to burst at the seams.”

 




	8. Chapter 8

Ever since it happened, Jonny had had the urge to flee, take off and disappear somewhere so isolated that nothing but him and nature would exist.

Instead, he was back in Williamsville, in an empty house, doing what he always did best: waiting for Patrick.

Luna had sensed his foul mood and he was almost certain she was avoiding him, leaving him trapped in his thoughts.

The images, forever embedded in his brain, were haunting him. They were flashing before his eyes either leaving him unbelievably sad and heartbroken or one step away from turning into Hulk and start smashing.

He hated this untenable position he was in; his inability to erase the shirtless men with their bright mirthful eyes and blooming smiles from his memory. Patrick’s pink, puffy lips and the connotations behind them would most probably be his undoing.

The worst thing was that he had been doing so well for so long. He had been the perfect example of a level headed adult who didn’t let himself succumb to the green monster - because Jonny _was_ an adult and not a five year old who threw fits because some other boy played with his best friend in the sandbox.

Not that Jonny had a best friend at five after the unspeakable incident on the swings- in Jonny’s defense, though, what else ‘let’s see who can go higher’ could have meant if not that it was a competition? In retrospect, Jonny probably shouldn’t have been gloating after, but try and reign an excited five year old if you could.

But Pat’s charming ways were like a spider’s web where trying to claw your way out made you get tangled worse in it. So he found himself feeling the sharp bite and pinpointing the exact moment the green monster nibbled on his heart. He was waiting for it to fade away but it was still stubbornly present.

He took a deep breath, tilted his head up, and closing his eyes, let the air out of his lungs, willing himself to allow his sorrow seep through as well.

The whole process was interrupted by the sound of keys on the lock, which made his heart leap, but Jonny knew it wouldn’t have helped anyway.

As the footsteps were getting closer, Jonny’s heart was beating faster. None of his usual techniques helped in reining his emotions.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Patrick’s tone was mocking, his voice hoarse making Jonny’s efforts to remain calm difficult.

He walked into the room - with his dimpled smile, unaware of Jonny’s struggle. He sat beside him on the couch and slugged him playfully on the arm. “Hey! There you are, dude. Man, I’m beat.”

He did look worse for wear but Jonny felt no sympathy. He couldn’t hold back the snort that escaped. “Yeah, I bet.”

Patrick raised his brow questioningly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seriously? You’re going to play dumb?” Jonny sat up, facing him.

“Dude, what’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? You wanna talk about attitude?” He asked, his voice rising along with his blood pressure. “Fine, let’s talk about the kind of attitude that makes Sidney fucking Crosby call me at 4 am concerned about my players.”

Patrick chuckled. “Oh, is that it? Dude, you know Sid,” he hand-waved. “I swear so many years with Malkin and he still doesn’t understand Russians!”

“I doubt Malkin ever paraded around drunk, shirtless and fucked out in a hotel corridor full of reporters.” Patrick’s calm and collected self was driving Jonny up the wall.

“Excuse me?” Patrick asked incredulously.

“I thought we were past that, Kaner, but clearly I was wrong. Do you know what could have happened if the word got out?”

“Hey, just because Crosby thought - “

Jonny took out his phone, scrolled through his messages and shoved it right into Patrick’s face. “Explain this to me then, Kaner, since Sid was so mistaken.”

Patrick glanced at the photo and shrugged. “We had a few vodkas man, celebrating. What’s the big deal?”

“Is that what they call it these days? _Celebrating?_ ”

“Dude, you’re being an asshole. We weren’t even drunk. It was hot, our shirts were soaked. I didn’t see you having a problem taking your shirt off for the world to see.”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me, Kaner, and _I_ didn’t look like I’ve been sucking Panarin’s dick!” Jonathan yelled, having totally lost all control and being all up in Patrick’s space.

“You know what, Tazer? Fuck you!” Pat’s voice came out loud but strained. “So what if I did, huh? What is it to you?”

“ _You_ sent me the fucking photo, Kaner. _You_ made this my business.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t. So you can fuck right off.”

Patrick turned his back and started walking away.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!”

Patrick stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his face hard, jaw tightened. “This is not the rink, Captain. You don’t get to order me around.”

“No, this is our house and I can do whatever the fuck I want.”

Patrick approached him with the speed of light. “This is _my_ house and you don’t get to do shit!” Patrick punctuated his words by poking Jonny in the chest. “You’re not my fucking husband, Tazer, you’re just pretending to be!”

A punch in the face would have been kinder. They did say that truth hurts, but Jonny had never realised exactly how much.

“Yeah, so you could get your fucking house. And what do you do? You go around sabotaging your chances.”

Patrick opened his mouth but his phone ringing prevented him from replying. It annoyed Jonny more that he’d rather answer it than try to figure out this thing between them. Then again, he had never been Patrick’s first priority.

“ _Hello? Oh, yes, of course. How are you? Thank you. Yeah, I’m back in Williamsville. Is there something wrong? Yes, I understand. When do you want me – My -_ ” Patrick stole a glance his way. If Jonny hadn’t been watching him he would have missed it. He didn’t miss the way Patrick was biting his lips with every pause. “ _Yes, he is here as well. Mr. Jenkins, I don’t know if he can – I understand. We’ll be there. Goodbye.”_

Patrick pocketed his phone and turned to Jonny looking nervous. “It was the lawyer.”

“Yeah, I got that. What ‘he want?”

“Didn’t say. He’s expecting us in his office in an hour.” He continued nibbling on his lips, distracting Jonny. “Look, if you don’t want to come, I understand. I’ll figure something out.”

Jonny kept staring at his lips; the redness, the puffiness.

“Tazer? Tazer!”

“Huh?”

“I said, you don’t have to do it. I can – “

Jonathan shook his head to clear it. “No, no, I’ll be there.”

Patrick licked his lips, probably trying to soothe the flesh. “Oh, OK. I’ll – go get ready then.”

Jonny said nothing. He kept staring at him as he walked away. He couldn’t think of anything but the way Patrick’s mouth looked exactly like it did in the photograph.

 

___________________________________________________

 

“I feel like we’ve been going around in circles, Mr. Toews.”

Jonny had to give the lawyer credit for maintaining his calm while dealing with Patrick. Maybe it’d be a good idea to ask him some pointers when they were finished. For the time being, he was often confused about who he was addressing when he said ‘Mr. Toews’.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what you want from me. You said that everything was going according to plan.”  Patrick was playing dumb. If Jonny wasn’t mad at him, he’d find it utterly adorable, as he often did when Patrick tried to downplay his intelligence.

Mr. Jenkins gave an exasperated sigh. “I would like some clarification as to why, though supposedly being married for quite some time, your wedding certificate states that it took place only the previous month.”

“Does it make a difference?”

“It does if you have provided me a false document.”

Patrick blanched at the accusation. Jonny was getting worried as well.

“I did not! I – It is real! We got married. You have the certificate, we have the rings, I showed you the pictures.”

The blows just kept coming and Jonny didn’t know how much more he could take. The ceremony was in fact real but everything about the marriage was a sham.

“Mr. Jenkins – “Jonny intervened. “The truth is – we weren’t – when Aunt Agatha died, Patrick and I were not married.”

Patrick groaned beside him. “Nice, Jonny. Why did you have to say that?”

“Because it’s the truth. Unless you want us to be charged with fraud, I suggest we follow the honest route for once.” They looked like they were having a staring contest and Jonny was determined to be the winner. He never blinked, not even when Patrick was throwing daggers at him. If looks could kill, Jonny would have been dead, but at least he wouldn’t have lost the fight.

“Yeah, but now everything’s all – “Patrick hands were doing a weird circular motion that Jonny took to mean ‘jumbled’. “But of course you don’t care. Why would you? “

“ _I_ don’t care? Are we really back to that? If I didn’t I wouldn’t be – “

“Gentlemen!” Mr. Jenkins shouted making them both jolt and break eye contact. Jonny considered it a win anyway.

“Good, now that I have your attention – If you weren’t married at the time, then why did you eventually?”

Patrick huffed. “So I could get the inheritance.”

The lawyer frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“How else would I have gotten it? She left it to Patrick Timothy Toews.”

“What?” It was the first time Jonny had heard a grown man squeal.

Mr. Jenkins straightened his tie and run his fingers through his hair. “I apologize. What I meant to say was that it was totally unnecessary.”

Patrick’s mouth hung open, his eyes bulging.

Jonny realised he had to be the one to ask for clarifications. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that the wedding wasn’t needed. We could have proven that the late Ms. James was wrong in her assumption and the person addressed in her will was indeed you.”

“We could have done that?” Patrick croaked.

“Of course. Anyone can have a false impression about someone’s identity. The Law provides.”

“The law is smart, people aren’t.” Jonny couldn’t help being salty.

Patrick side-eyed him. “Why didn’t you say something?” He asked Mr. Jenkins.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Did I have to? You saw how I was when you read the will.”

“Mr. Toews, I couldn’t have known the reason behind your behaviour.” It was said in a very flat tone but the scolding was implied.

Realizing his was being unreasonable, Patrick apologized. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“So, what happens now?” Jonny questioned.

“That is entirely up to you. I can proceed with the document as is or go the other route. Mr. Toews’ claim to the inheritance is not in jeopardy either way.”

“He isn’t going to be penalized for – you know... trying to bend the rules?”

“This does not fall under the category of deception, Mr. Toews. I’ve seen people do a lot worse and definitely a lot less legal.” Mr. Jenkins assured him.

Patrick looked at Jonny, brows furrowed, like he was searching for the answer to the world’s mysteries on his face. The scrutiny made him uncomfortable, so he averted his eyes.

“We– I should– I want to do this right.” Patrick’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We should disentangle Jonny. Can someone in your firm handle an annulment?”

Jonny felt his eyes moisten. He held his head down. He wouldn’t have thought it a month ago but having it end before he even had the chance to live it was even worse than never having it at all.

 

____________________________________________________

 

They returned home in an uncomfortable silence. Patrick had said all that was needed, but Jonny felt all the unspoken words he wanted to utter clog his throat.

Luna jumped on him the moment they opened the door. Jonny started to bend down to take her in his arms but decided otherwise. It would have hurt both of them to form an even closer attachment.

“Can you – “ he turned to Patrick gesturing at the dog. “ She needs to be fed and have fresh water. I- I have to – “ he pointed towards the stairs.

“Yeah, sure.”

Patrick turned to Luna. “Come on, girl, let’s get you fed.”

Luna shied away from him and though she growled she followed him towards the kitchen.

Jonny took one last good look around. He didn’t know if it had been a dream or a nightmare but he would miss it nonetheless. But his work there was done and Jonny was not needed anymore. He had to pick up the pieces and move on with his life.

His bag was still packed, so all he had to do was say goodbye.

He found Patrick in the kitchen, setting out pots and pans. Luna was slurping water from her bowl.

Jonny cleared his throat. “Hey.”

Patrick turned around a bit startled. “Oh, hey, I was just making –“ His eyes followed Jonny’s figure and stopped dead at the bag in his hand. “What’s – Where are you going?”

Jonny shrugged his shoulders. “Since everything is out now, I figured – “

For the first time since Jonny had met him he couldn’t read anything in his otherwise expressive face. “Oh ... Yeah, I – “ Patrick wiped his hands with a towel.

Jonny was expecting his to go for a handshake; a hug would have been impossible, not we the way things had been between them, but all Patrick did was fumbling around with it. “Thanks, “ he said. “For – you know, everything.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I guess – I’ll see you around.”

“I guess.”

Patrick took a step towards him. Reflexively, Jonny took one backwards. If Patrick came too close Jonny feared he’d break.

“So ...”

“Bye.”

Jonny didn’t wait for an answer. He turned his back and headed for the exit with feet heavy as lead.

Luna run after him, her tiny paws scratching at the floor.

Jonny paused at the doorway. Realising that things couldn’t get worse for him he threw caution into the wind and decided to take his own advice and come clean.

 He barged inside again, only to find Patrick a few feet away.

“Hey, I was – going to see you out. Did you... forget something?”

Jonny’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Patrick’s face fell, or so Jonny thought even if for just a fraction of a second. “Yeah, hey, I understand. You don’t have to anymore. I know I – “

“Kaner, just shut up and let me talk. You drive me fucking crazy. I swear sometimes I want to stab you with the lace puller – “

“Hey!” Patrick protested.

Jonny raised the hand not currently holding his back to stop him. “Don’t, OK? Just listen. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I don’t have an excuse. Except... All I did... it’s because ... “

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “You call and I run. And I know that’s not your fucking fault. I make stupid fucking choices when it comes to you. Every damn time. And God, sometimes I hate you, so fucking much, because come on, no one can be that oblivious! I feel like I am getting played over and over again.”

“Jonny – “ Patrick’s voice was strained.

“No. Just – let me finish and I’ll get out of your hair. Even when I hate you, I really don’t. Except because I love you. And loving you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life only because it is so easy. It is so easy that I get lost in it and I can’t imagine finding a way out. But it hurts, Pat, it hurts so damn much. But it’s not your problem, it’s mine and I’ll figure a way to deal with it.”

Patrick stood there, bulging eyes and jaw dropped.

Jonny didn’t know why he had been expecting anything else. He sighed. “I - Thanks for listening, I guess.”

He stormed out without a second glance. He got in the car ignoring the noise of Luna’s barking, and was able to breathe only after the house, Patrick and Luna were nothing but a speck on the horizon.

 




	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I hope the ending is satisfactory & worth the wait.  
> Thank you for reading & for all your lovely comments.
> 
> If you have a prompt and/or want to talk you can find me on [tumblr](http://huntersandangels.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/andielach)

After the initial shock had somewhat passed, Patrick followed Luna in pursuit of Jonny, but either her loud barking and the noise of Jonny’s car drowned out Patrick calling after him, or he flat out ignored him. Patrick was livid.

Luna made her way back, slavered from running too fast. She went to Patrick, sinking her teeth into his sweatpants, trying to drag him Jonny’s way. When Patrick didn’t budge, she sat and held up her two front paws begging.

Patrick took out his phone. “Answer, you fucking asshole,” he growled while waiting to connect.

“You fucking coward!” He shouted into the air as it went to voice mail.

He plopped down on the porch steps and beckoned a sad looking Luna closer. “Come here, girl.”

To his surprise, not only did she come, but climbed onto hip lap as well and settled there. Her tiny cries made his heart sink further. “I know, girl, I know. We’ll get him, back, OK? I promise.”

He stood up, scooping Luna up in his arms. He had a suitcase to pack and an asshole to hunt down. “We’ll find him,” he stated firmly. “And then – and then I’m gonna fucking kill him!”

 

__________________________________________________

 

Patrick was at the end of his rope. Jonny had been a no-show in Chicago, he hadn’t, for the first time ever, attended the convention and his phone had been turned off the whole time.

He had had to resort to stalking him on social media just to know his whereabouts. Even that hadn’t helped since he hadn’t stayed in the same place long enough for Patrick to find him. With every failed attempt, he had felt himself getting angrier and angrier.

In a moment of brilliance, he thought to get in contact with David. He had endured Dave’s mocking and name calling, directed both at Patrick and his brother, but he had finally gotten the answer he had been looking for.

That’s how he found himself in Winnipeg, outside Jonny’s lake cabin, duffel in his hand and fire in his eyes.

He knocked on the door hard and while he waited, he felt himself getting worked up. All the things he had kept bottled up threatened to surface.

Jonny opened the door shirtless, in a pair of off-white cargo shorts, his tanned muscles glistening with sweat. For a second Patrick’s brain short circuited.

Jonny gave a startled gasp and tried to close the door in his face. Fortunately, Patrick’s reflexes worked quickly and he jammed his foot in the door to keep it from closing.

“You asshole, open the fucking door,” he growled through gritted teeth, trying to force his way in while Jonny was trying to push it closed.

“Go away, Kaner.”

“Jonny, I swear to God, if you don’t let me in – “

“Just, - please, leave –“ Jonny begged. “I – I’m not ready to – I can’t - I need some space, OK?”

“Open the fucking door and let me in or I swear to God they’re gonna hear us all the way in Chicago! I’m not fucking leaving, Jonny.”

Jonny must have sensed it wasn’t an idle threat. Patrick was indeed ready to air their laundry for the whole world to hear. “You wouldn’t,” he said, but it was more of a question than a statement.

“Fucking try me, you fucker.”

He must have been convincing enough, because the door gave way under his weight.

Just as he stepped in, he closed the door behind him with a bang.

Jonny looked at him timidly but said nothing, which was a good thing because Patrick was furious enough as it was.

He dived towards Jonny with force, making him lose his footing. “You fucking asshole! You fucking coward!”

Jonny just stood there, taking the hits against his chest, letting himself be pushed backwards with every word.

“You fucking douchebag,” Patrick continued his rant. “Who do you think you are, you fucking jerk? Dropping a fucking bomb on me and fucking disappearing for weeks! Weeks, you asshole!”

Granted, he wasn’t very creative with his curse words but he thought they got the point across nonetheless.

“Patrick – “ Jonny’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Fuck you! Don’t ‘Patrick’ me, you dick.” The tears that had been building up finally spilled over, running down his cheeks. His open palms were now outright hitting Jonny’s chest with force. “Do you know what I’ve been through trying to find your stupid ass? God, you drive me fucking insane.”

Jonny moved his arms to hug him closer to his chest, comfort him perhaps now that his tears wouldn’t dry.

Patrick pushed himself away. “Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t get to – “

Jonny put his hands up in surrender and took a step back. They have reached the living room but no one made a move to sit.

“You fucking left!” Patrick accused.

“I – You wouldn’t – You said – “

“Fuck you! Don’t make this about me! You didn’t give me a chance to say anything. You fucking bolted. You were the one who left!”

“You were the one who didn’t stop me.”

“I ran after you, you fucker, I screamed myself hoarse calling your name!”

Jonny gaped at him. “I – I didn’t –“ he paused. “Why?” he asked.

“Because for some godforsaken reason, I’m fucking in love with your dumb ass, you fucking moron.”

 “I – Patrick, “ Jonny’s voice was shaking. His name on Jonny’s lips held so many emotions. The weirdest thing was, it wasn’t the first time he had heard it being spoken that way. It was the first he realised exactly what it meant.

Maybe they were both a couple of dumbasses.

Jonny took a step forward and Patrick met him halfway. They stood there, a couple inches apart staring at each other.

Jonny cupped his face, tilting Patrick’s face up, caressing his cheekbones.  “Patrick,” he repeated, out of breath, like he had been running a sprint.

Patrick licked his lips. “I’m still mad at you, asshole.”

Jonny nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Not enough, but you’re going to be. I’m gonna make you regret it.” It wasn’t an empty threat per se, and they both knew it.

For some reason, Jonny was on board with the plan, if his chuckle and his nodding were anything to go by.

“Now are you going to kiss me, or do I have to do everything, you fucker?”

Jonny continued languishingly caressing the planes of his face with his fingertips, eyes boring into Patrick’s, shinning with something that looked a lot like awe.

Even before he kissed him, Patrick felt kissed. He felt impatient as well, cursing the fact that Jonny didn’t wear a shirt to grab and force him closer.

Jonny’s heavy breathing was a clear indication that he was anything but calm.

Patrick groaned. “You know what? Fuck it. I’ve been waiting too long for this, you fucking sadist.”

He went on his tip-toes, craned up his head, and, grabbing the back of Jonny’s neck, slotted their mouths together.

The kiss was sloppy and uncoordinated. Jonny kept smiling against his lips, making it both ten times worse and a hundred times better. It was very hard to explain.

Patrick gave up. “God, you’re horrible at this!”

“I’m not!” Jonny was affronted by the accusation, which played right into Patrick’s plan.

Tongue poking slowly out of his mouth, Patrick moistened his lips. Jonny’s eyes followed the movement, growing darker. “Oh, yeah? Prove it.” Patrick challenged.

Jonny walked backwards towards the couch, dragging Patrick with him by his polo shirt. He sat down with a thud and moved Patrick the way he wanted him until he was straddling him.

Patrick, always having been a sucker for Jonny’s manhandling, went pliant under his hands.

This time, Jonny wasted no time. Hands on Patrick’s head placed him right where he wanted him and kissed him hard; not as a prelude to fucking but rather as if he was determined to make him come by tongue and teeth alone.

Patrick pushed back, returning the kiss with the same desperation; nothing but want and need and years of frustration.

They broke the kiss, coming up for breath, chests heaving.

Jonny raised his brow questioningly. “Well?”

Patrick groaned exasperatedly. “Dude, do I have to grade you? Fucking gold star, OK? Can we get on with the program? Jesus!”

“Jesus is a little formal, Jonny is fine.” Jonny deadpanned.

Patrick groaned again and buried his face in the crook of Jonny’s neck. “You smug asshole. Why am I even attracted to you?”

Jonny whispered the words into the shell of Patrick’s ears, sending shivers all through his body. “Because you have impeccable taste.”

“Your arrogance is killing the mood, dipshit.”

Jonny canted his hips, causing friction and Patrick’s breath to hitch, proving him a liar. “Uh-huh,” he said before licking a broad stripe in the length of Patrick’s ear shell.

He nibbled and soothed, before taking the lobe in his mouth, tugging on it. Patrick moaned loudly, tilting his head back, a clear invitation for Jonny to follow the path with his tongue.

Jonny did not disappoint. Alternating between laving and sucking, he mapped the side of Patrick’s neck before leaving a gentle kiss right over his once broken collarbone.

Patrick buried his hands in Jonny’s hair, shoving his face closer, pushing for more. His hips rolled, trying to find the best angle for some friction.

Jonny gave a sharp bite on Patrick’s Adam’s apple, making him gasp, but soothed it immediately with his tongue. Moving both of his hands, he gripped Patrick’s hips so their clothed erections were aligned. Stopping the flow of his lips, he ran his nose along the length of Pat’s neck until his face was buried in Patrick’s hair, muffling the sounds of his own moans.

Patrick would have none of that. He tugged at Jonny’s hair, making his head tilt until the angle was right and he could feel Jonny’s lips on his again.

Jonny took control of the kiss quickly. Patrick would have fought back for dominance if he wasn’t busy digging his nails in whatever part of flesh he could find. He made a mental note to stop biting them.

Patrick rolled his hips again forcing Jonny to start moving. As they rutted against each other, they never stopped kissing - if panting and gasping into each other’s mouths qualified as kissing - their hands furiously grabbing what they could.

“Fuck – Oh, Jesus, Pat –“ Jonny gasped at a particularly forceful push of Patrick’s hips. “Maybe we should – bedroom –“

Patrick moved forward aligning his ass with Jonny’s cock, moving as if he was ridding it. “Jesus, fuck – later – just – this – now.”

Jonny cupped his ass, helping his with the motions, bringing him closer to his chest to get some friction as well.

He raised one hand to bury it in Patrick’s hair, but he had nothing to grab a hold of. He let out a disappointed growl. “No more haircuts for you, OK?”

Patrick just moaned his agreement. He would have agreed to anything in the state he was in.

Their grinding became desperate, their kisses shorter and shorter as their breaths became raspier.

“Close, Jonny, fuck – so close.”

Jonny’s hips worked him harder, faster. “Yeah, baby, come on.”

Patrick’s breath hitched. “You – you, too –“

“Right behind you baby. Let go, I got you.”

Patrick came like that, back arched, open – mouthed and silent. He slumped forward, leaning all his weight on Jonny, trying to catch his breath.

He could feel Jonny still hard underneath him. Jonny said nothing, didn’t move, just held him close and panted in his ear. His cock gave a half-hearted twitch that made Patrick groan in discomfort this time. He moved enough for Jonny’s cock to be at the grove of his hipbone.

“Come on, babe, take what you need.”

Apparently, he didn’t have to ask twice. He was almost sure the angle was uncomfortable, but Jonny held tight and started thrusting up.

Words spilled from Jonny’s lips, a garbled litany of “Fuck” and “Pat” and incomprehensible, amazed, pleasure.

Patrick felt the moment Jonny came, with a full body shudder and a loud gasp. He brought their foreheads together as Jonny was caressing Patrick’s spine with his fingertips, trying to get down from his high.

Patrick looked down at him and was met with the fondest smile he had ever seen. He couldn’t help but leave a quick peck on Jonny’s lips.

Jonny chased his mouth and deepened it. It was slow, languish, more affectionate than passionate. It was the best thing he had ever felt in his life and he could get to do it every day. Who would have thought!

The kiss ended as abruptly as it begun. Jonny groaned and shoved him half-heartedly. “Get off me, you oaf.”

Patrick sighed and got off him. “Way to ruin my afterglow, you emotionally stunted asshole.”

Jonny gave a throaty chuckle. “We’re gross. Coming in our pants like thirteen year-olds and being covered in dried come is not romantic, Kaner.”

Patrick frowned. “So, I’m back to being Kaner, huh?”

“Hey, Pat, no – I –“ Jonny’s flushed face got even redder.

“Good, because that’s no way to treat your husband,” Patrick said, raising his hand and showing his wedding band still on his finger.

Jonny swallowed hard. “You’re still – you’re wearing –“

“You have zero verbal skills, Jonny. I wonder how you’re allowed to address the press. Yes, you dumbass, I still do because we’re still married. Though I wonder why, maybe I should divorce your sorry ass. I don’t want to be stuck with your stupid name my whole life.”

“Only my name, eh? What about me?”

Patrick shrugged. “Eh, there’s no escaping you. I tried.”

“I guess an annulment is out of the question now, eh?” His sly grin told Patrick exactly what Jonny was thinking about.

“Hold your horses, tiger. Failure to consummate a marriage is not a valid basis to successfully obtain an annulment in New Mexico, anyway.”

“So – “

“So you better not have thrown that wedding band away ‘cause I’m not buying you a new one.”

Jonny’s ears pinked. “I – it’s – First drawer next to the bed, “ he offered.

Patrick grabbed him by the neck and gave him a hard, bruising, closed-mouth kiss. “Good. Now let’s get cleaned up ‘cause I can’t stand your bitching, and the first thing you do after better be putting it where it belongs.”

Jonny stood up to leave. “And where that might be? Since you want to divorce me and all.”

Patrick groaned. “Good, you are infuriating. I don’t know why I love you.”

“You were the one who said –“

“Shut up, Jonny. Now show me the way to the bathroom.”

Jonny did move ahead but kept talking. “But – “

“Nope.”

“Patrick?”

“NO.”

Jonny blocked his way outside what Patrick assumed was the bathroom door.

“What?”

“I love you, too.” His face was serious, all intense, like when he was giving an order on the ice that no one should dare disobey.

“Meh, OK.” Patrick said with a lopsided smile, dimple popping.

Jonny playfully shoved him and made his way into the bathroom. Patrick followed as Jonny opened the faucet, leaving the water running, and proceeded taking his shorts off.

Patrick started peeling off his own as well.

“Plus, you can’t really divorce me. If I’m a Toews and you’re a Kane, what will our kids be?”

Patrick choked on his spit. Jonny’s hopeful expression and his own wildly beating heart left no room for a different response.

“Awesome, Jonny,” he said. “They’re going to be awesome.”

 



 


End file.
